Birthday For A Brennan
by KTwain
Summary: When Brennan finds out startling news from Russ, Booth follows her into Bone Storage even when she tries to push him out. NOW COMPLETE.
1. Limbo I

**Chapter 1: Limbo I**

"Yeah, that's great Russ. Uh huh. Yes, please tell her hello for me. Yes…Bye." Temperance Brennan hung up the phone gently, her head fuzzy, eyes strangely dry as they had been staring at the same brown envelope on her desk the entire conversation. They were pricking irritatingly. _Inflamed sinuses_, she consoled herself. Only, Brennan had never had allergies. She pushed the thought away and realized her hands were methodically arranging objects on her desk at 90 degree angles to each other. She began moving furniture inches at a time with her legs, scooting the pieces into their proper places. Her partner walked in as she was folding a blanket by laying it out on the floor and perfectly matching the corners.

"Whoa, Bones, what's wrong?" He asked immediately.

"Nothing," she replied snappishly, "I'm cleaning, that's all."

"You're only anal when you're upset." The words were awkwardly still lingering in the air when Brennan felt a reluctant grin crack her face.

"Booth…" she started.

"I didn't mean to be…" he grinned.

"Obscene?" she supplied dryly. Booth gave her a suggestive, but his signature, little boy's grin.

"I can be obscene." She rolled her eyes.

"Booth, I…" she looked around and saw Cam through the office window. Relief washed her as she made her escape, "I have to see Cam." She fled before his concern, shoving the half folded blanket into his arms, only to run smack into Hodgins. They both staggered back a few steps.

"Hey there Dr. B," said Hodgins, "easy. You okay?"

"Yes," Brennan said blankly, "I've had more severe run-ins during karate." She didn't mention she hadn't been to karate class in some time; Booth had been acting strangely since his surgery and she had not left his side unnecessarily for months. Hodgins stared at her a beat too long before stepping aside.

"Right." He blinked.

"Sweetie," called Angela throatily. She knew it made Brennan smile, but not today. She didn't want to be near either Angela or Booth today; both were entirely too observant. "Brennan, I just got a call from Russ…" Brennan froze in place until Angela finished her sentence. "He was calling about his wedding." Angela's tone was thick with disapproval. "You didn't tell me he had finally proposed!"

"I didn't find it pertinent."

"Sweetie. You _suck_ at being a girl."

"Excuse me?" said Cam, who had walked into the conversation.

"Not you Cam. Brennan. Russ is getting married!"

"Congratulations Dr. Brennan."

"Why?" asked Brennan blankly.

"I…uh…" started Cam, but after her usual casual flicker of her dark eyes, she dropped it. "Booth is pacing in your office."

"Uh oh," said Hodgins.

"Why…why uh oh?" asked Brennan.

"Bren," sighed Angela. "You know Booth."

"Yeah, and when he's pacing he's either pissed or worried about somebody." He declined to mention it was usually Dr. Brennan.

"Did you two fight?" guessed Cam. Brennan felt flickering panic at the triple fire attack.

"I…uh…have to go to Bone Storage. Excuse me." She darted around them and walked confidently through the doors and down the stairs, but at the bottom, finding "Limbo" as Angela called it, empty, she slowed until every step was a plod, and finally slumped to the floor next to an examining table. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she took deep breaths while twisting her mother's glittering ring around her finger. She wasn't crying, she just needed – air. Space. Alone. With no people. No Angela. No Booth. No Russ…no mother.

Her pricking eyes suddenly flooded but she didn't let them fall. She just breathed quietly in and out, in and out, in and started. Booth was suddenly there; she hadn't heard him. For such a big man, he moved absurdly softly.

"Booth." She started to stagger up, but he fluidly dropped into a crouch to her level. In his right hand was a brown folder. Her lids slowly slid closed over icy blue eyes.

"I found this on your desk," he said softly. She didn't respond, even when he settled down next to her on the floor, spreading his long legs in opposition to her tightly tucked body. "It's your mother's file."

"Yes, well," hedged Brennan, trying to distract him. "I was researching…for a book character." His brown eyes studied her face. She wondered what facial minutiae his "gut" was picking up. She held perfectly still.

He had seen her angrily but absentmindedly perfecting the angles of objects in her office. Her face had had that "sad little girl look" he had so often teased her about and he knew she was deeply upset. The last time he had seen that stunned, cold look was at his own mock funeral. When she had headed for Bone Storage he knew something was very, very wrong. She only went down the stairs when traumatized, and the last time had been when finding out and lamenting Zack's betrayal.

He could almost literally feel every line of her rigid body posture, the tight tension of all her muscles and the glassy eyes she so tried to hide. He forcibly had to relax his own muscles out of the instinctive rage that flooded his system at her poorly concealed anguish.

"I looked in the file," he admitted. Her eyes immediately turned to the floor. It didn't take Sweets' training in psychology to know he was getting to what was upsetting her. "This isn't even the murder file; only missing persons."

"I didn't need the murder file," she said firmly, still boring her overfull gaze into cement. He shifted his body towards hers a little and she flinched, betraying her promise to herself to remain perfectly still.

"The most interesting thing on the file is what was highlighted." He dropped the file a couple inches to the floor. The resounding slap made Brennan flinch so hard, he could see she was shivering through the ripples of her fine Egyptian cotton blouse. Guilt immediately inundated him, and he put his hand on hers, on top of her knees. She didn't flinch this time.

"It was her birthday." There was silence. Booth stared at her until her fidgety, scared blue eyes met his. He could pit her any day against killers, against mobsters, against wild animals, but Bones was still afraid of a little emotion. He waited, wanting her to stop being stiff, and when she dropped her shoulders that little bit in defeat he finished his sentence. "Her birthday is today."

"I didn't remember," she said in a low voice, laden with guilt. "I…I couldn't remember, so I thought I'd look it up. And when…and it's…and then Russ called…and he knew…and I just found out…it's…it's…" her breath was coming faster and faster and the air she needed was packing into her lungs and crushing her. She was shaking so hard, her hands slipped from her knees as she tried to choke the words out. She was being ridiculous. She was losing control. She desperately reached for the file; to hold it in front of that gaping hole in her chest where her heart should belong. She knew Booth saw it; he had been staring at her brokenness for years.

Instead, he was there, and his arms were wrapping around her and her face fit perfectly into the crevice between his shoulder and his neck; her nose fit perfectly between his jugular and his tendons, and resting her blood drained face against his fiery neck, she felt alive, and she felt more normal. She could feel, more than hear, his heartbeat pumping through his carotid artery. His arms pulled her tightly wound muscles until they protested before he lifted her into his lap, each leg straddling his hips; if she hadn't been shaking so hard, she might have found the position erotic.

"I'm not crying Booth," she finally breathed, and he almost groaned aloud when his groin tightened fiercely in response to the tickling whisper across his sensitive neck. It was hardly enough that her pristine ivory skin was pressed against him, her lips making little sobs against his collarbone.

"I know, Bones, I know." He said, smoothing her shirt in the back, rubbing his hands across her shoulder blades like she was an infant. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, savoring the sensation, when she realized it was less comforting and more…arousing. The tingling sensation was traveling embarrassingly low in her abdomen, as it sometimes did when Booth invaded her personal space. To take her mind off something even more terrifying than physical feelings, she attempted to talk about her emotional quandary.

"It's just…" she frowned, at a loss, and Booth pulled back and they were inches apart, as always, just inches away. She slowly smiled; she couldn't help it.

Booth was sure his brain had just exploded. Her slow sultry smile was meant in innocence, but he was embarrassingly close to letting her know exactly how close together they were, despite his tight jeans.

"It's just," he echoed.

"She…she left." He had stopped smiling as soon as she had started talking; now his dark eyes were serious, brooding. They were flicking over her face but finally went out of focus as he said.

"I know…mine too."

"Booth?" blinked Brennan. "I thought…I thought, well, I had always assumed with your father that… she died."

"She did," he hurriedly assured her, his hasty gaze meeting hers; that was a mistake, he was forced to tell the truth. "One day I had a mother and one day…well, she didn't want us. She left. We didn't talk about it. Then there was only Dad. Then there was only Dad…" he trailed off, and to her horror, Brennan realized the shivering rippled beneath her hands resting on his biceps weren't from him flexing, but rather shaking. His eyes shaken, and cold, something she had never seen, he echoed dumbly, "She just…left."

"I know." Brennan swallowed. "I know. But at least you had Jared…and Pops. I didn't have…I just don't get to have a family."

"Look at me Bones," laughed Booth, but his laugh made her heart burn to ashes; she had never seen him so cynical, so lonely. "Parker is my son, but I hardly see him; his mom didn't even love me enough to marry me."

"That's not…entirely truthful," she corrected automatically. His eyes flashed up to hers in desperation.

"But what does that say about me huh? I mean, look at Jared; look at everyone. Jared met the girl of his dreams in a month. She loves him knowing….knowing everything. They don't have secrets remember?"

"We don't have secrets," she whispered pitifully.

"I…" he faltered, "I've never told anyone…not _anyone_ about my mom. Not even Jared. He was so young." She didn't know why, but she hugged him then, and pressed his face into her neck, and rubbed her hands down his broad back, feeling muscle planes under her fingertips, and pushing gently on pressure points she knew from her studies in the East.

Booth didn't notice at first. At first his loneliness had consumed him, but now, he was aware of the delicious scent of her neck, the utter lack of the alcoholic smell of perfume, the almost taste of her centimeters away. With his ear pressed up under that incredible jaw line, he could hear her breath, and the hitch in her throat that made him sit up, though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

"You're thinking about foster homes," he accused. Her wide, wet eyes turned to him.

"How could you know that?" she accused. He leveled a stare at her.

"I know you Bones. I know you." She didn't protest.

"At least you had Jared," she whispered, not trusting her voice not to crack, "Russ left. And mom left. And dad. And then…" her eyes turned inwards, to a panic he knew all too well, having laid awake in terror after his first tour in Iraq. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder had driven him to gamble; who knew what it had done to this broken woman. She was unconsciously crossing her arms again. He knew it was her defense; she was always holding herself together.

"Tell me," he commanded. She shook her head in mute horror.

"It wasn't just the trunk of the car," she began in a whisper, referring to a story she had once told him and Sweets about being locked in the trunk of a car for three days in her own filth. Being buried alive must have been agony for her when the gravedigger had captured her. "That was just one home…there were lots. Some were nice, but once they had children of their own…we were always just substitutes…we were always just…just second best…and I mean," she took a cleansing breath, "I know I'm exceptional. Obviously. But Russ – he's in and out of jail, a petty thief. What if I had stayed with him? What would I have become? My drive was to get out. Would I have hated living with my own brother as much as the System? I…I…" A few angry tears slid over her cheeks, and she took her hands off his shoulders to swipe at them irritably, but they kept coming. He felt the acute lack of warmth where her hands had been, and he captured his wrists with his palms.

"This is totally irrational," she laughed, but it came out as a sob. "It's my mother's birthday and…and…" her hiccups grew into tearful confessions until Booth gathered her closer, hugging her so tightly, it felt as if they were one person, with one consistent heartbeat, and what had gone missing so long ago was filled with Booth pressed against her chest.

"No," she protested weakly, "No. I can't…I don't have time…"

"Bones," he used his best logical voice on her, and then added a sinister tone. "You've been holding this in for fifteen years. Let some out. You don't have to let it all out, just some." She shook her head violently. He couldn't see her like this; not like this, not her true self. Not her darkened, twisted soul; she didn't even believe in souls, only sentient ability. He couldn't…he couldn't like her this way. No one could; that's why no one did. Angela didn't even know.

"Booth," she pleaded, but then he began rubbing her back again, and she couldn't help it. She started sobbing into his neck. Her body was wracked until she was spasming in his arms and he held her tighter until she quieted, sobbing so hard he could feel her teeth and tongue touch the skin of his neck. He wasn't in uniform, so through his thin cotton t-shirt he could feel every muscle of her perfectly toned torso shaking, writhing and sobbing with such soul wrenching agony, he wanted it to end, but he also couldn't help thinking of her tongue on his skin in a different way, the teeth on his neck, the spasming, writhing closeness of her body… He groaned quietly; he couldn't help it. She didn't hear, but it seemed to quiet her, until she was breathing again, and not speaking. She drew her head back eventually in mortification, but he only let go of her with one hand to brush back her hair and run his thumb under her eyes and trace tear trails down her face, and under her chin to the pulse on her delicate fluted neck.

He was shocked to find it racing instead of quieting. Similarly, he noticed her own hand was flat against his chest, feeling his heart throb for her in more ways than one.

"I know," he said with his crooked smile, and ran his thumb over her cheekbone. And when he smiled, she couldn't resist. Her tired upset face broke out of its clouds into a weary sun, brightening as her eyes glittered at him, and his sparkled back at her. She didn't know what question he was answering, but if she was honest with herself, it could have been...all of them.

"Bones…" he began quietly; they were so close together she could feel his voice tumbling through every connection of their intertwined bodies. Suddenly the position seemed more sexual than comforting and she felt the hot tingle travel again to where they met lightly where she was sitting. She felt his voice in her hands on his chest, in her stomach pressed to his, in her thighs pressed to his sides. She shivered pleasurably.

"Booth," she grinned back, and while they were both grinning, he took the hand from between her shoulder blades and gently forced her head the last few centimeters. Their lips met in a smile, in a zinging, light kiss, but he drew back, wary.

She felt the electricity slide between their lips and straight downwards, filling her heart so full on the way she wasn't sure if she wasn't experiencing coronary failure. She paused a moment to make sure, only to feel her arousal heighten, and finally be met by his own. The added friction between them where she perched shivering atop him, made him kiss her lightly again, without tongue, without lips moving, just a gentle head tilt. She couldn't stand it.

With her usual flagrance for socially accepted norms, Brennan took two fistfuls of his t-shirt, briefly marveling at its softness before kissing him as she had only dreamed of kissing him. He sat stiffly in surprise as her tongue met his; this wasn't a kiss under the mistletoe, this was her whole body pressed hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder kissing with her. He hadn't realized before how much it mattered; but he had never had his first kiss in such a…position. The flex of her muscles, the shift of her weight, the hotness of her breath all inflamed him more than just her tongue, and before he could control himself, he was kissing back. His mouth captured hers and dominated; she was so used to being in control, and he took it away. He pinned her hands to her sides as his mouth explored hers, and Brennan felt her muscles twitch as his pectorals hardened against her breasts. She struggled to be free of his grip but he grinned instead.

"How flexible are you Bones?" he said, putting weight on her.

"Very," she smiled, "from karate." He groaned into her mouth and forced her hands over her head as he gently put all his pressure on her until she was lying down, back to the floor, her ankles still tucked next to her hips. He stretched out then, putting all his weight on his forearms, and lightly lining his body to hers. Then he took advantage of his control, and moved away from the mouth. Her neck, her tantalizing mouth watering neck that mocked him everyday from beneath that sweep of titan brown hair or under an innocuous but revealing bun, was first to be experimented on.

Brennan had always been secretly ticklish; Booth was attacking her weakness. Unlike normal girls, who were ticklish behind their kidneys and patellae, Brennan had found herself unreasonably sensitive when her father had attempted to chuck her chin, or tickle her ribs. She gasped, and arched beneath Booth when his roving tongue found her sweet spot, underneath the right side of her chin. Her entire abdomen and down was pulsing and Booth had just forced it faster. He chuckled against her skin.

"_Bones_, you've been holding out on me." She attempted to control herself.

"You never…never askED!" she shrieked the last part of the word as he bit down gently. Frustrated at her ineptitude, she wriggled beneath him until she got her arms free and greedily began exploring his chest under his shirt. His roving mouth stopped and his entire body tightened in response to the first touch of her fingertips. She kissed back now, entirely too pleased with her success as she gingerly pinched.

"We gotta…we gotta stop." He panted. She immediately ceased, miffed and perturbed.

"What's wrong? I thought…"

"No Bones," he rolled his eyes, "but if we stay here…I mean, there are no locks on the doors or _anything_." She blushed, glad they hadn't been thus far interrupted.

"Well then," she said, attempting to sit up, "I...um..." she cleared her throat.

"You want to _stop?"_ Booth all but shouted, running his fingers through his hair. Brennan all but had to restrain herself from grabbing his big, red, cocky belt buckle then and there.

"My place then?" she asked breathlessly, "It _is_ closer…" Booth all but screamed. He staggered to his feet, completely embarrassed by his condition. _List of the saints, list of the saints_, he mentally chanted. He closed his eyes so he couldn't see her tousled, aroused…._SAINTS_ he shouted to himself.

"You hungry?" she asked casually. Booth opened his eyes incredulously, not sure if she was making a sexual reference.

"What?" She took three steps, and they were so close, the saints were all forgotten in an instant.

"What about…" she started, and grinned suggestively. And he finished for her:

"Thai food?" they chorused. And instead of grinning as they always did, much too close, she moved in for the kiss, but he stopped her head with his hands. A flash of hurt danced across her face before Booth kissed her slowly, languorously, and they only broke apart when they heard footsteps above.

"You order," he directed, and she laughed and skipped upstairs before him, only putting on a serious and professional nod as she passed Angela on the stairwell.


	2. Egg Noodles

**Chapter 2: Egg Noodles**

It had been awkward when they had finally picked up the food and sat without speaking in the car, the electricity and the full realization of what had passed in Limbo coming into focus. When they had gotten to her apartment, she had blindly turned on the television without seeing it. She had wondered then, if what had happened in Limbo was just that: something that wasn't real, that was between possible and probable and would always hang suspended there. Her eyes had filled as she stared blindly ahead, completely unaware of his scrutiny until she jumped when he had turned the set completely off.

"Bones," he had said seriously, and she turned to look at him. "Bones," he sighed. She stared at him, begging _something_, she wasn't sure what with her heart and knowing that he, the heart person, would understand. "Come here," he commanded. She felt deaf, mute…she hadn't moved until he had stood and moved toward her; only when his arms were wrapped around her that she broke down again.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed into his neck, splaying her long fingers over his scapulae, "I don't know…"

"Don't even start Bones," he rumbled into her ear, "this is just one of those days where you get a free pass."

"I don't know what that means," she confessed.

"It means," he said slowly drawing away and tipping her chin up to look at him, "that things today aren't in limbo." She jerked suddenly; she didn't know how he could read her mind so clearly.

Booth was startled at her jerk; he didn't know what he had said, but staring into those enigmatic ice eyes, the ones he stared at every day in awe, never quite knowing if he was on the mark which threw off his near perfect game of understanding the human race, he could see her thoughts gliding over their previous exchange in bone storage.

"Nothing happens just once Bones," he said with a small smile, chucking her under the chin with only his trigger finger, running it cleanly along the line of her jaw, and his grin getting bigger as he saw the goosebumps rising on pristine white flesh. "You taught me that."

"While single occurrences are a complete anathema to this biological world that thrives on repetition of consequences in order to more fully understand survival…"

"Bones?"

"Yes?" she said, blinking luminous eyes at him.

"Shut up." And then, taking in consideration her prickling flesh, he kissed her deeply, not passionately, but so slowly and serenely it was like diving into a deep, deep lake with hardly a ripple until her heart rate calmed and her mind dissipated its cluttered thoughts and all she could do was feel.

Temperance Brennan was _feeling_. And what she felt was a deep, abounding, shameless love that was built of many things: of loyalty- the fact that she knew that she would only ever share herself this way with Booth himself, both emotionally and professionally, of trust – the fact that she trusted him both implicitly (without being to explain or rationalize) and explicitly (with a long list of accommodations and examples). Her love was built on friendship: an easy going friendship that was as clear and uncomplicated as a summer's day in a meadow of flowers yet could weather the harshest blizzard cozy by a fire. It was built on compassion and empathy – of shared childhood experiences and trauma, of goals in life and drive. It was built on less beautiful foundations: on ambition – something both shared and strived for which put a zest in their relationship that bubbled in bickering, on fundamental differences – their opposites that weren't in fact opposite at all. And most of all her love was built on the man himself: on Booth. On his family, on his intellect, on his heart, and most of all, on that heavy weight on his strong, broad shoulders – the weight of the world he carried around and criticized everyone else for but never for a second let go. And she felt safe, knowing that he was carrying her world with him.

They broke apart languorously, with slow smiles on their faces and their usual passion and fire was tamped for a moment. It wasn't a rush to shed their clothes; it wasn't limbo. He smiled uncertainly when she unbuttoned her shirt, but he reached up to slide it reverently from her shoulders, marveling at the soft Egyptian cotton seeming like bristly thorns compared to her unblemished, perfect skin. Although while neither had ever voiced their feelings, they both felt surprise at their slow going. Both had expected fast, frenzied, passionate sex. The care and quality was easy, tempered and safe. However, when most of the clothing was shed, Brennan let go of her calm and watched his float from his dizzyingly mahogany eyes. Lust, rampant unbounded and fearfully fierce desire roared up inside them and suddenly Booth was chuckling evilly while pinning her to the couch. She began laughing as he savagely kissed up and down her neck, his hands roaming over her sensitive ribs.

"Booth!" she squealed, "Booth!" He couldn't help laughing at her helplessness.

"Bones, how are we supposed to get anything done if you keep LAUGHING at my advances?" he fiercely poked between her second and third rib right as she tried to answer. She shrimped around his finger in breathless laughter.

"Not fair! Not fair!" she giggled, and began to tickle back. He wasn't so easily tamed however, until she found his weakness: underneath his arms. They tickled each other until they were blue in the face and both kneeling on the couch in only their underwear.

"Truce!" he called, holding his hands up. She took that very moment to attack under his arms.

"Hey!" he said, falling onto his back, and she followed him down; but the tickling stopped and she lay, inches away, inches as always staring intensely at him.

"Booth, tell me if this is limbo," she whispered. He felt her hot sweet breath fan over him; he could feel her hipbones digging into the v shape that his toned body had created just for that purpose; he could feel her calves twining around his own and her entire torso sticking to his in a light sheen of sweat. She sparkled in the dim lighting of a far lamp, sweet and sticky. Her blue eyes bored into his, and he told the honest truth.

"With you Bones, nothing is ever in between." She grinned slowly.

"Because we're the center?" He nodded seriously.

"Because we're the center." Satisfied with his answer she kissed him again, first slowly, but more quickly until their frantic hands were ripping at the scant little between them and he flipped her over against her protests.

"Some things Bones," he panted as his mouth roamed over her breasts, "some things don't change. _I_ drive." And then there was no more talking.

"Sweetie!" There was a loud knocking on the front door. "Brennan get up! Sweetie!" Brennan groaned, but she was up, wearing a short robe, her hair tousled, and her usually sharp sky blue eyes still cloudy with sleep…or lack there of. She yanked open the door and the sight that greeted her yanked open her eyes.

Angela stood holding a frosted chocolate cake, Hodgins held two bags of groceries and Cam stood next to him with an armful of baguettes and various pastries. Brennan felt slightly exposed; though none of them could tell, she was in fact not wearing anything beneath the robe.

"Ange," squinted Brennan, "do you know what time it is?" Angela shifted all her weight on one foot attempting to read her watch. The cake tipped precariously; Hodgins and Cam both tripped forward in a vain attempt to catch it while Brennan tripped back to get out of the way. Angela recovered it quickly and beamed at her.

"It's 7:30."

"In the _morning_," protested Brennan.

"Well," hedged Angela looking slightly uncomfortable but rushing quickly through her explanation. "Booth told me last night on the stairs that you guys were getting take out. So while you were ordering he sort of told me that yesterday was your mother's birthday," she took a big breath for air at the same time Brennan gasped in outrage but beat her to speaking as she hurried on, "So I baked a cake and Cam thought of breakfast before work and Hodgins brought fruit and orange juice…"

"And mimosa!" piped in Hodgins.

"I did _not_ hear that," warned Cam, "but if you happen to spike the juice without my knowledge, that's not my fault."

"Cool," grinned Hodgins.

Brennan's mouth was still gaping open. "Booth told you _what?"_

As if on cue Booth sauntered by in the background of the doorframe behind Brennan into her kitchen completely shirtless. He stopped at the sound of his name and backed up back into view. Upon seeing the party he wasn't nonplussed at all; he grinned then when Brennan glared over her shoulder at him he said,

"Oh yeah…hey Bones look, Angela was worried so…I mean I figured it couldn't hurt…" But Angela wasn't upset at all anymore. Her grinning jaw was on the floor. Brennan rushed to take the cake before it tipped to join her jaw.

"Come in," she muttered to the general group and stepped ungraciously aside, flushing a bit.

The other two weren't so quick to jump to conclusions; Booth often crashed in Brennan's apartment and vice versa, and nothing had ever happened before. Brennan quickly flitted to the bedroom to put on pajama pants and to straighten the twisted, sweat soaked sheets of her bed. She reemerged in a tank and silk bottoms. Booth was still grinning his little boy grin shirtless and breathtaking.

"So," he said, clapping his hands together. "What do we have here?" Cam hurriedly thrust him the bag of bread.

"There's bread," she stared, but couldn't help stopping to share a grin with Angela as the two women's eyes flicked from Brennan's crossed arms and aggressive stance and Booth's completely nonchalant rummaging through the bags of groceries. "We have jam and butter in Hodgins' bag."

"Eggs!" crowed Booth, unearthing a package. "Excellent! Get it Bones? _Eggs_-cellent?" She rolled her eyes as he began juggling the raw eggs in the air to the clapping of Hodgins and the squeals from Angela.

"Booth!" she protested, "Not over the carpet!" Without thinking she pushed him out of the way in time to catch one of the eggs left in the air. It was only after a second passed that she realized her hands still burned from touching his bare stomach. Angela wiggled her eyebrows but her grin fell when she noticed the remains of their Thai takeout on the coffee table.

"So you really did have take out last night?" her voice was colored strongly with disappointment and Cam's face also fell a bit at their dashed hopes. In comparison, Brennan shared a long look with Booth but had to look away as she remembered.

"Of course," she answered evenly, "What else would we do?" Angela muttered,

"That's not very romantic."

Booth was digging through Brennan's skillets in the kitchen when he dropped one with a loud crash, creating a cacophony that echoed on the tiles and out to the four people standing awkwardly around the remains of the food. Brennan hastily moved to clear the table for the picnic while vividly recalling their takeout.

After their unbridled lovemaking on the couch, Brennan had stretched out sleepily full length on her stomach, her head on the opposite arm of the couch, her torso draped over Booth's thighs as he leaned forward towards the unopened take out.

"Gosh I'm starving Bones," he complained, opening the first box of Mongolian vegetables and egg noodles.

"Did I tire you?" she asked mischievously arching. She saw the lust dilate his pupils as he stared at her twitching muscles of her perfect, bared back. She squealed a most un-Dr. Brennan–like squeal as he suddenly took a pinch of egg noodles and dropped them onto the perfect little trough hollow of her spine. "Booth! What are you doing?" He didn't answer, but she saw him grin before she gasped as he slowly licked the noodles off her skin.

"Oh," he said with his mouth full, "yeah, these are delicious. I mean, delicious." She laughed a protest before she stopped as he dumped the entire box onto her. "Don't move," he instructed, "you might get this in your hair."

"Booth…" she groused.

"Bones I'm serious," he said, nibbling gently on the back of one of her shoulders. She shivered pleasurably and he snickered against her skin. "I'm eating here."

"You are eating noodles off my bare body," she said, tasting the words out loud. He groaned.

"Yes and they are delicious. A little lukewarm. You mind heating them up there Bones?"

"I am not a microwave Booth, I can't just…turn up the temperature."

"You sure?" he murmured, and his suddenly sweetly salty mouth was over hers and she could feel some of the noodles slipping over her sides, leaving brown stains on her milk white skin. He licked up another and made a small sound. "Mmm…better," he pronounced.

"That's ridiculous Booth," she scoffed, "I couldn't have possibly…" but her mouth was covered by his again only this time he fed her a mouthful. She swallowed.

"Those…" she said, her eyes swimming with hazy lust, "are very, very good."

"Mmmhb," mumbled Booth as he ate off of her. They ate all their food that way, especially the sauces until they were both so sticky sweet and covered in sweat, they were obliged to finish their romp in the shower where Booth had entirely too much fun washing her hair for her.

"Sweetie!" clapped Angela, and Brennan started.

"What?" she asked quickly.

"You just looked a little zoned. Here, have a baguette." Smiling privately to herself, Brennan took the tidbit and made to sit down; she winced when she saw Hodgins and Angela both sitting on the couch. Cam was sitting in an armchair, and she followed suit. She wasn't going to sit on the couch.

"Honey, this couch is sort of sticky," Angela criticized.

"I spilled!" called Booth from the kitchen. "Sorry," he apologized when Brennan started choking uncontrollably. "Uh…sorry. Who wants an omelet?" he added brightly.

He resumed cooking eggs as Brennan fought to down her mimosa without making eye contact for the next five minutes. _That man_, she chuckled to herself.

**Ugh...I don't really know where to go from here...the romp was fun, and the play on Thai food was fun...suggestions are welcome! So long as they're in character. I'll probably be inspired by reviews, which are always so sweet ;)**


	3. Snakes in the Drain

**Chapter 3: Snakes in the Drain**

**This is a secret fear of mine, lol. Thanks for the great reviews! Immediate clearing of writer's block at least for this and the next chapter. Who knows how long this fluff shall go on?**

Omelets and mimosas served, the atmosphere in the apartment on a Friday morning was breezy and uncaring. They chatted briefly about their newest case, and Angela poked Hodgins repeatedly.

"Jack, seriously, " she frowned for the umpteenth time, poking his abdomen, "you're going to get fat."

"Fis isf only muwy forf muffin!" he protested around a mouthful of blueberries and sugar.

"Yes, Hodgins," laughed Cam, "but you've also had 2 omelets –"

"Booth makes good omelets!" protested Hodgins swallowing heavily.

_"And _three pieces of toast," chimed Brennan.

"Hey don't look at me," objected Booth, "a man's gotta eat."

"Exactly," nodded Hodgins, starting on his fourth piece of baguette with jam and another glass of mimosa.

"Booth," said Angela with a flirtatious wink that had Hodgins sneezing out flakes of bread he had inhaled, "You seem awfully hungry this morning. That's like your eighth helping of fruit, and you've had a bunch of eggs too."

Booth shrugged helplessly. "Calcium builds strong bones," he commented, taking a swig of milk straight from the carton.

"Is that my milk?" cried Brennan, noticing that Cam had not brought milk from the bakery.

"Sorry Bones; bones come first," chuckled Booth. Hodgins gave him a high five for the horrific pun and Cam rolled her eyes around her mouthful of strawberries.

"Sweetie," said Angela in a low voice to Brennan, "I've had one mimosa too many in the bladder department…"

"Sure Ange," said Brennan catching on quickly, "you know where the bathroom is." Angela gracefully got up and brushed her lap of crumbs into a napkin. After she had gone Cam swallowed and said,

"When's Parker's next tball game Booth?"

"Parker plays tball?" grinned Hodgins, "That was the most epic of sports. Even I played that one, before I realized my true calling for sports was in hurling."

"What's that? A drinking game?" Booth said, around a mouthful of eggs.

"Actually," corrected Brennan, "it's an Irish…" but she was cut off by Angela's panicked and/or outraged cry of:

"BRENNAN! COME HERE!" All of the adults stood up at once and rushed forward. Angela quickly came running from the bathroom, hands up.

"It's totally cool…" she panted, red faced. She looked Hodgins straight in the eye and then at Booth and emphasized, "it's a _friend_ problem. A _girl_ problem?" Booth's face immediately flushed and he stopped.

"_Oh._ Um, okay then. I'll…. Cam, Hodgins, you want more eggs?"

"Yeah man," said Hodgins, looking equally as awkward.

"Angela," offered Cam in a low voice, "I have some tampons…"

"No it's fine Cam," interrupted Angela, "I know Brennan has the kind I like…sweetie?" She practically dug her claws into Brennan's white skin and yanked her into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

"Ange," said Brennan in consternation, "you _know_ where…" she turned around at that exact moment and her eyes widened. "…Oh."

Angela's foot began its rhythmic tap.

"Oh?" she said extra sweetly, "that's all you have to say? OH?"

"Oops?" guessed Brennan again, as she surveyed the mess. The floor was the most obvious problem; flooded and extra slick, the shampoo and suds that Brennan had had such fun flinging over Booth's extra sweet body had apparently _not_ stayed inside the frosted glass of her sliding shower. Similarly, soy sauce handprints were pressed up against the glass; not just her handprints, but overlapping larger fingers and outlines of curved bodies also lined the shower. Their lovemaking and slippery falls had left the bathroom a mess. The inside cabinet behind the mirror had an open, hastily grabbed box of condoms, and even more embarrassing where the several used ones still sitting in the sink, when Brennan had adamantly refused to pollute the earth by flushing them. Angela was standing in the one clean spot next to the towel rack, her toes pointed as she bounced in place, what seemed to be her substitute with excited, angry pacing.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?" she finally burst out, when it seemed Brennan was simply staring at the mess. "How could you not explain this delicious looking, tousled/clean, cleverly hidden – "

"Mess?" Brennan finished for her.

"Relationship!" shrieked Angela. She dragged her voice pitch down two octaves at Brennan's widened blue eyes.

"I was not expecting morning company," she answered truthfully.

"That is _so_ not the point," Angela hissed. "I'm your _best friend_ this is what I'm for! This…" she waved an extravagant hand at the walls, "is what I _live_ for. I have no life Brennan. Seriously. My activities consist of running and lusting after Hodgins. And sometimes Wendell."

"And work," supplemented Brennan. Angela gave her a pitying look.

"Sweetie, one day you'll realize the whole point of the week is for it to be over."

"The point of the week is to be employed in order to make a financial living."

"Yeah," nodded Angela, cueing her on, "to make money. To spend. On drinks. And condoms. And birthday cake. Or…birthday sex." Brennan winced.

"I know that it is completely rational for me to think this, but every time I imagine how Russ and I were conceived…"

"STOP NOW," commanded Angela, looking mortified. "That is _not_ where I was going." There was a tentative knocking.

"Angela?" It was Cam. "I hear a lot of upsetting noises…I have Midol too…"

"Just a minute Cam!" said Angela, not wanting Cam to join the festivities. "Get this cleaned up!" she whispered fiercely to Brennan. "And don't you for a _second_ think this conversation is over. And for gods sakes flush those!" She pointed a disgusted finger at the contents of the sink. She slipped quickly out to Cam and Brennan could hear her through the door: "We had a little accidental overflow of the toilet," she said pleasantly, "Brennan _insists_ on doing her dirty work alone." Brennan felt her face flush at the unsubtle remark she knew was directed at Booth.

"I could never let her finish…alone," Booth complained, and Brennan felt her red face burn mauve with mortification. She heard a high tittering, and with that, she put them out of her mind and in a frenzy began slapping at the toilet paper and mopping the floor. After the floor was clean, she quickly dove into the cabinets under the sink and bleached the shower of every possible bacteria, closed and windexed the mirror, gloved up and flushed both sets of rubbers down the toilet (against her better, greener, nature) and only stopped when Booth knocked.

"Bones, hey…how's it going?"

"I'm almost done," she replied. "Hold…AGH!" She screamed a high-pitched little girl's scream and scrabbled at the door handle. It broke under her touch as Booth kicked the lock open and pulled the door towards himself.

"Bones! Bones! What's wrong? What's wrong?" There was a stampede of feet as the other three ran towards the bathroom. Still yelping, Brennan scampered behind Booth and cowered her face hidden in his back.

"It's in the tub," she whispered. Inching forward with his gun drawn, Booth shuffled forward, Brennan's fingers entwined into his shirt he had finally put on, and Hodgins' left hand on the small of Angela's back as they came last behind Cam.

"Oh. My. God," declared Cam, also retreating a hasty step. Hodgins - curiosity getting the best of him - dashed forward in delight at something disgusting.

"A reticulated python!" he shouted gleefully, "that sucker is _huge!"_

"It's the biggest snake I've ever seen in a tub," added Cam fervently retreating.

"Don't count on _that_ tub," muttered Angela under her breath. Booth's gun wavered in the air.

"Angela," he said with gritted teeth, holstering the weapon. Hodgins went and stuck both hands in, picking up the snake.

"Hey little guy," he crooned; little the snake was not. A good four feet in length, it was a miracle it had managed to push the drain out of the tub's bottom and slither through. Brennan moaned at the long, unending snakeskin she saw caught there beneath her drain.

"Get rid of it! Get rid of it," she turned her face away.

"Hey Dr. B," said Hodgins in surprise, wrapping the snake around his waist, "I didn't know you suffered from ophidiophobia."

"Fear of snakes," whispered Brennan when Booth turned to her, still screening his body between her and the snake when she saw his confused glance.

"Bones got scared of snakes when we went after that murderer on Halloween."

"You dropped me," she said scathingly, her defenses going up and using her fear as anger towards Booth. "You dropped me in a pit of snakes. On my head!"

"_After_ you shot me," he argued.

"She _shot _you?" gasped Angela.

"Once!" protested Brennan.

"In the leg," soothed Cam.

"So not near any vital organs," clarified Brennan.

"Or useful ones," smirked Angela.

"How does she do it?" wondered Booth aloud, his comment directed at Angela's extrasensory perception of relationships.

"She saw the bathroom," answered Brennan; the exchange was lost on Cam who was still gazing uneasily at the large python now comfortably being used as Hodgins' newest belt and on Hodgins, who was crooning and petting the snake's triangular head as one would an infant.

"Dude," he said to Booth. "You should totally give this sucker to Parker."

"What?" asked Booth in shock, "that thing just crawled out of Bones' tub!"

"Yeah, which means it was a pet, once upon a time," reasoned Hodgins. "At least it wasn't a toilet snake." Cam shivered.

"That's enough horror stories today," she said, holding a perfectly manicured hand up. "Dr. Hodgins, please get rid of the snake. I don't care where. Put it in the lab far, far away from me and Dr. Brennan."

"No problem," grinned Hodgins. "I love my job. Work just got 100 times better today. Mimosas _and_ a python that can be used to smuggle illicit substances? DOUBLE win." Everyone glanced askance at him save Angela.

"Let's go Jack," she sighed. "The snake can ride in my car. Cam can you clean up?"

"If it means avoiding the snake," smiled Cam, her lips pressed tightly together in her signature smile that dimpled both cheeks, "I could trade jobs with you Angela."

"Ugh, and me cut and weigh human brains? Pass."

"Hey man," Booth said to Hodgins, "could you put the snake in a bag or something on your way out? I mean, it kind of freaks half the people in this room out. And these are scientist geniuses."

"Yeah, sure, no problem. Got a duffel?" While Booth went to retrieve the duffel, and after both Angela and Hodgins had made a hasty exit, Brennan went to help Cam clean.

"Where did this blender come from?" she asked in puzzlement, holding up what Hodgins had made the mimosas in.

"Oh that's mine," laughed Cam, "from the kitchen at the Jeffersonian."

"You do know _what_ Hodgins has made in here correct?" asked Brennan complacently, trying to make, what Angela and Booth called 'small talk.' Cam looked immediately nauseated.

"Oh I forgot. Oh God. Yes, I remember Hodgins blending maggots in here…um, please excuse me." Brennan saw her rush to the kitchen to pop two pills from her purse and drain a glass of tap water. "Okay," she said looking none too pleased, "I've got everything. I will see you in an hour? I've got lab reports I need you to verify, and then hopefully we can all get out early for the weekend."

"That's the whole point of the week," echoed Brennan, trying to put Angela's advice to good use. She seemed to have successfully utilized it correctly because Cam flashed her a smile, stacked the leftovers in a bag to bring to the office kitchen and let herself out.

"Booth," Brennan called shakily, when everyone was gone. She almost collapsed on the couch, but remembering Angela's 'sticky' comment, she groaned and fell into a chair. He immediately bounded out.

"Bones," he returned.

"Angela knows," she moaned.

"I know."

"There was a big snake," she shuddered.

"I know."

"I'm not entirely sure how to process this morning's activities."

"Well work will be a snooze in comparison!" laughed Booth. "Even murder isn't this exciting."

"Are we doing the right thing?" she asked seriously.

"Bones," sighed Booth, dropping onto the couch, "sometimes it's not about right and wrong."

"What?" she scrunched her face in consternation. "With you it's _always_ about right and wrong and black and white. That's why you hate the messy cases. They leave you drained."

"And you," he fired back. She nodded a reluctant admittance. "Sometimes Bones," he twirled a stray straw with a tiny umbrella glued into it across the backs of his fingers, "it's just about people. And these people," he waved his hand at her mother's birthday cake. "These people are good people. And they love us. And we love them." He didn't mention the love he felt pounding in himself for her. It was too soon; too much too soon.

"So you're saying," surmised Brennan, "that we're human?"

"_Exactly_ Bones! Exactly!"

"That was an already established fact. We are, in fact, homo sapiens." Booth ran his fingers through his hair in acute frustration and leaned against the seat cushions. He jumped forward with a flash of his usual hot temper.

"Why is this sticky? Oh. Never mind. My fault." He took a deep breath and let it out again. "Bones…remember your father's trial?"

"Yes." She recalled th e incident very vividly. It was, as Sweets had tried to convince her of, what psychologists called a 'flashbulb memory' in which everything was saturated in detail because of severe emotional ties or trauma. She hated psychology.

"Do you remember what I said to you?" Without thinking she blurted,

"I always remember everything you say to me." She let her gaze drop to the coffee table where the partially eaten cake was covered with a glass bowel.

"I told you that the scientist got sidelined…"

"I'm still who I am!" she protested, "I'm still Dr. Temperance Brennan, and you are still Special Agent Seeley Booth. Just because we got into a physical relationship…"

"Bones! Stop talking for a second. First of all, what just happened wasn't just physical. Come on Bones, this is us you're talking about. We're partners. Best friends. We're not just run-of-the-mill anything."

"I never understood that phrase, by the way," she interjected.

"_Secondly_," he said, talking over her, "you'll never change who you are. And I never want you to. What I was trying to make you remember is that sometimes you gotta let your heart drive."

"You always drive," she said sourly.

"Nice slip," he smirked.

"What?" she blinked innocently. "I don't know what that means."

"Freudian slip? Very famous psychologist and his views on…"

"Booth, you know I hate psychology."

"Fine. Never mind," he said smugly. "What I'm saying is that not everything is _rational_. Some things just are." She squinted at him.

"Are you all right? I can't tell if you are speaking coherent English since your brain tumor."

"Bones, that was one time, about an hour after I woke up. That's not relevant."

"Don't jump to conclusions," she scoffed.

"Bones! Just…let this one work itself out."

"Humans are the only truly proven sentient creatures. We have to work everything out for ourselves. If this mythical divine being you believe in…"

"Me and half the world Bones, me and _half the world._"

"What I'm saying is…"

"What _I'm_ saying is just let it stew for a little."

"Stew?"

"Steep, soak, simmer etc with the tea analogy. Just let our personal stuff be ours. Between us okay?"

"So it's a secret."

"Nothing is ever a secret."

"What about national security?"

"Bones…I believe as you would say to Mr. Nigel whatshisface…"

"Nigel Murray."

"Try to be relevant." They were silent.

"I have to change Booth," she said finally.

"And I have to run to my place and pick up new clothes; can't show up in yesterday's suit!"

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?"

"I…uh…I…I don't actually know what to say in this situation."

"Don't worry about it Bones, morning afters are always awkward. Back at the office, you can pretend this never happened."

"Can I still come to Parker's tball game?"

"Of course! I can't believe you never played. Parker's super excited to show you how to swing."

"I was never supremely coordinated," she warned.

"Parker's a great coach," Booth assured her. He stopped, his eyes burning into hers again. "You'll be okay?" She swallowed.

"One more thing?" she pleaded. He winked.

"Sure thing Bones."

"Pour Drain-O down the tub? Please? I can't look at…" He started laughing.

"Gotcha. Roger, wilco and out." He disappeared into the bathroom, and she perused her closet. By the time she had outfitted herself appropriately he was gone.


	4. All the Boys in the Yard

**Chapter 4: All the Boys in the Yard**

**As always, the reviews were amazing ;) keep 'em coming. I have enough ideas for the next chapter as well, so hang tight.**

"You're avoiding me," accused a voice, "I've been trying to talk to you all day." Brennan looked up, dazed from her computer at Angela's distinctive silhouette in the doorway.

"That is correct," admitted Brennan, trying to resume working. There was an ominous click as Angela pulled the door shut behind her. She stalked to the couch and sat down, foot tapping. For a moment, Brennan tried to keep working, but after several loud sighs, and the unceasing tapping sound, she reluctantly, with almost shaking legs, took the seat across from Angela.

"What," started Angela menacingly, softly, "_what_ were you thinking." Brennan flinched.

"What?" she started upset, "Ange, it just…it just happened."

"What?" frowned Angela, "sweetie, I'm not upset that you've slept with Booth, sweetie," she chuckled throatily, "I'm _thrilled, tickled, overjoyed_," she squirmed in her seat with each word, "that you two finally got your heads on straight. I mean, whew," she fanned herself with a hand. "We have to go over this in slow details."

"Oh," said Brennan, nonplussed, "then why are you…"

"Furious!" screeched Angela suddenly, "because you should have _called_ sweetie. You should have _told_ me."

"Ange," began Brennan awkwardly. "This was the first…"

"Oh," blinked Angela, equally derailed of her tirade, "the first time? Oh," she grinned guiltily, covering her hand with her mouth. Her embarrassment quickly turned to lusty curiosity. "Well…how did it start?"

"He followed me to Bone Storage," Brennan blushed, quickly straightening magazines on the glass table.

"You two did it in _Limbo?"_ gasped Angela.

"No!" Brennan hurriedly interrupted, "we just…kissed," she smiled awkwardly as she blushed a little harder. "I was upset and…Booth was being Booth." She shrugged. "He suggested take out, and I suggested my place – we weren't actually planning anything else. As I passed you, I thought…I thought that was it."

"Oh. My. Lord," shuddered Angela, "And to think I was so close to interrupting you. Oooh, I could kick myself. I could have ruined everything!" She continued berating herself until Brennan held up a hand.

"Ange, stop. Seriously," she smiled. Angela grabbed her hand across the table.

"Mmm, honey, come sit by me." Rolling her eyes, Brennan allowed Angela to reel in her arm hand over hand until she walked around the coffee table and sank into the cushion next to her. Immediately, Angela threaded her arm through her best friend's. "So tell me," she smiled seductively, "about the car ride. Tell me everything. Every little salacious detail." Brennan's face burned.

"We can start with the car ride," she agreed cautiously. "It was horrible; we thought we had made a mistake and when we got to my place, I couldn't help…" she trailed off.

"Couldn't help what?" Angela prodded.

"I…" she looked at the floor, "I…cried." Angela immediately pushed against her arm.

"You didn't," she said mortified. "Brennan! Brennan! Oh God, why? Why would you do that? That's so, so…"

"Well it turned out fine," snapped Brennan remembering her vulnerability all too well.

"Wait what?" asked Angela, huffing, rant paused mid sentence.

"Well we just…it was like we picked up where we left off," confessed Brennan, uncomfortable with the brushing too close to details. She remembered Booth's words echoing familiarly in her head: _What's ours should just be between us._

"I have never tried that," echoed Angela dumbly. "Maybe I should play the broken card more often." Brennan wrinkled her nose and to her intense relief, the door to the office banged open.

"Bones?" called Booth, coming around the couch. His eyes widened a little as he saw them sitting together, arms intertwined.

"Jealous Booth?" teased Angela, pulling Brennan closer.

"Ange," she protested, pulling away and jumping up. To Booth she scowled, "I'm mad at you."

"What?" he was completely thrown. Angela frowned disapprovingly. "Why Bones? What did I….is this about the couch? I swear I'll have it…"

"Ew!" coughed Angela suddenly. "Oh my God Booth? Ew! Seriously? The couch…Oh the couch was sticky…oh…" she ran from the room, rubbing furiously at her clothes.

They both chuckled until Brennan realized they were arguing again. "I'm mad," she huffed crossing her arms. He grinned at her, tugging at her elbows.

"Come on Bones," he wheedled, when she refused to be coaxed out of her aggressive stance. "What's up now?" She swallowed and looked pointedly down between them. Blushing and scowling now, Booth took a step back, the air suddenly cold and flooding the gap between their too-warm bodies.

"You broke my door," she complained. "The bathroom. The door handle is broken."

"You screamed," he said defensively, unconsciously mimicking her stance and crossing his own arms. "There was a snake in the tub!"

"Don't remind me," she snapped. "Hodgins has been in and out of here all day. He named it Kaa and his been taunting me with it all day. I don't know why he named it such an absurd appellation though." Booth chuckled.

"That's the name of the hypnotizing snake in the Jungle Book. It's a good movie, I show it to Parker when I feel he's not getting enough old school Disney."

"What?" she asked, for a moment sidetracked.

"Come on Bones," he said in outrage, taking a step forward, his hands falling to his sides, "Come on! You know, Sher Kahn? The tiger? Mowgli? The wild child raised by Baloo the bear and Bagheera the panther?"

"A feral child would never be raised by a panther," she said scathingly, "especially not a male; it would be devoured." Booth rolled his eyes.

"My point is, you were screaming, so I kicked the door in. I'm sorry. Next time I just won't save you."

"I don't need saving Booth, I'm not an infant."

"Fine," he glared.

"Fine."

Angela walked in on them having a stare down, jaws clenched and hands fisted.

"Trouble in paradise?" she chortled. Neither looked at her, until Booth said,

"You actually felt the need to change clothes?" Angela looked defensive and crossed her arms.

"Yes."

Brennan pursed her lips, trying not to laugh.

"So you ready to go Bones?" Booth asked, his anger apparently forgotten. She grinned, hers dissipating into thin air even as Angela watched.

"Where are you two going?" she asked frowning. "Brennan, I thought we were grabbing drinks…having some girl time?" she winked as she said it.

"Bones is coming to Parker's tball game," insisted Booth. "Parker's been asking all week."

"Sorry Ange," Brennan apologized, "I forgot."

"I know Bones," grinned Booth, "Which is why I packed you some clothes."

"What?" she asked, shocked. She grabbed the bag from his hand, and realized that not only was the bag her own, but all the clothes inside were as well.

"You don't want to get your work clothes all sandy," he said, his little boys grin lighting up his face as she reluctantly smiled back, looking up from the open zipper.

"You think of everything," she accused.

"It's my job Bones," he laughed, placing a hand at the small of her back and steering her towards the door, "It's my job."

Brennan sat in the bleachers behind what she had learned thus far of the sport, 'home plate' with the other parents. She was sitting conspicuously alone in the middle of a segregated stand. All the fathers and males were sitting or leaning against the left side of the bleachers yelling at the kids and yelling shots at the umpire – a pimply faced kid around 15 looking to make some cash – and chuckling about their athletic sons on the field. On the right side of the bleachers, the mothers lounged; none quite so dressed up as Brennan, since very few of them had jobs. The smattering of teachers and office managers were wearing the occasional slacks, but their tennis shoes and hats they had pulled on belied their professionalism. There was one woman who was a doctor, outfitted in black scrubs with pink lining, but her attention was riveted on her other daughters milling about, and her pager; the other women did not talk to her. Brennan, likewise, sat isolated in the middle of the bench.

Her ears pricked when she heard Booth's name.

"Mmm, my yes," laughed one of the mothers, "Seeley Booth, the assistant coach and most eligible bachelor out here."

"He's so good with the kids," laughed another.

"And so easy on the eyes," chimed another, anonymous voice.

"His son Parker is his perfect little replica," said another voice, "I can just _imagine_ how adorable that man was with his curly hair as a kid."

"Mmm, mmm good."

"He brought someone today," cautioned another woman, her voice lowering. They all leaned in conspiratorially.

"His partner I heard."

"What kind of partner?" asked a panic stricken voice, "like a…life partner?" There was an uncomfortable tittering among them all.

"Or his police partner?"

"Or his…girlfriend?"

"Friend with benefits?" guessed a younger voice; they all laughed again. Brennan felt the bench sink beside her. She turned in surprise to see the golden haired, middle aged doctor sitting next to her. Up close, her scrubs read in comfortable, scrawling script that was also on Brennan's own lab coat: **Dr. Katrina Walsh, MD. OB/GYN.**

"Which is yours?" she asked pleasantly.

"Oh," confessed Brennan, confused but pleased to be cut off from the other mothers, "none…"

"I know," smiled Dr. Walsh, "I just was too tired of them ogling a man much to young for half of them and much too beautiful for the rest of them. I knew he came with you because you're obviously the most attractive woman here."

There was a scandalized silence on the other side of the doctor, and Brennan suppressed a smile.

"Anthropologically speaking," she said slowly, "they do represent a subculture of urbanized suburbia. It's not uncommon that they would be attracted to someone or something that deviated from the norm."

"I'll bet," nodded Dr. Walsh. She offered a hand. "Katrina."

"Dr. Temperance Brennan. I work at the Jeffersonian." She scrambled for a moment, unsure of what to say before she caught Booth watching her and he made a gesture with his hand to talk, four of his fingers forming a mouth when meeting his thumb. "Which," she asked awkwardly, "is yours?"

"None," returned Katrina. "I'm not even from DC; I'm here for a conference. That," she pointed a finger at a honey brown haired young woman, helping Parker to swing, "Is my daughter. She attends Georgetown and is looking into Yale law school. I came to visit and she insisted on me coming to her "brother's" game."

"I'm sorry?" asked Brennan in confusion. She watched the young woman, whom she guessed to be about twenty one, move onto help another boy. This one was olive skinned with black hair; he was the only minority on the team, and Brennan couldn't even tell what race he was.

"Taylor works with Tony; his name is actually Antonio Suarez, and he's an intercity foster kid in a bad situation. While Taylor was interning for an adoption firm, she met Tony by accident. I'm not sure on the details but she babysits for him now and has really taken an interest in turning his life around."

"You must be," said Brennan, around the lump in her throat, "very proud."

"I am," smiled Katrina, "but I go home to Dallas tomorrow. The only strange thing is how much she idolizes your man."

"Partner," corrected Brennan.

"She worships the ground he walks on, anyways," shrugged Katrina. "And not just for his looks; she's a little young for him." Brennan laughed in agreement as Dr. Walsh walked away, holding her hand out to Taylor for a goodbye. The young woman laughed, rushed to hug her mother and Brennan turned away from the scene she would never get to play out.

She was intensely aware of the blatant gawping and once overs she was receiving from the women on the right side of the bleachers.

"Hiya Bones!" piped Parker, dragging his bat after him and lining himself up to the tee. "Watch this," he grinned over her shoulder, before smacking the ball between the legs of the opposite team's second baseman.

"Go Parker!" cheered Brennan as he dashed around the bases. He stopped, hovering on third, only to be high-fived by his father the third base coach. His high, clear voice could be heard chattering a mile a minute as the next little boy lined himself up for the hit. Acutely aware of her spot on the bleachers and her isolation, Brennan grabbed up her bag after high fiving Parker herself through the fence when he scored, and quickly strode into the bathroom to change for after the game, and to avoid the awkward conversation of the mothers as the game ended.

Rifling through her bag, Brennan was mildly surprised to find clothes she would actually wear inside. Momentarily disconcerted that Booth knew every aspect of her life so well, she put it out of her mind and pulled on her favorite pair of jeans, her running shoes for karate and a purple tank top she often wore under her oxford button down shirts. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail and stuffed her work clothes back into the bag. She slung it over her shoulder and peeked out of the restroom only to find herself face to face with a very disconcerted woman opening the door.

"I…uh…please excuse me," said Brennan, stepping outside and rushing away. She found Booth and Parker on a bench in a concrete structure Booth had told her the name of but she had promptly forgotten.

"Bones!" shrieked Parker. "You're done changing! Didya see my hit? Didya? Didya see me score? I was such a BEAST!"

"Yeah," she chuckled, "I did. And even though I don't know what that means, I totally agree Parker. You excelled your peer's ability by…"

"Good job buddy," interrupted Booth with a significant glare at Brennan telling her that that was all she needed to say.

"Dad says," puffed Parker, "you need my help learning to play ball. I'll be too old to play tball soon, and I'll have to start playing baseball. But I guess if you just aren't good enough to play with me then, well, we can still play tball just us okay?"

"Thank you Parker," laughed Brennan while Booth wiped a hand over his face in mortification. Parker grabbed her hand unconsciously and dragged her to the empty field.

"Dad!" he called over his shoulder, "get the tee and balls okay? I got Bones."

"Sure thing buddy," he grinned. "But I get to get Bones next time."

"Okay Bones," instructed Parker, holding up the bat. "You just hold it like this, uh-huh, and then, SWING!" Brennan jumped back a pace as Parker almost knocked her ribs through her abdomen.

"Easy buddy," warned Booth, "you don't want to be reckless and hurt anybody." Parker shook his head seriously.

"I'm real sorry Bones."

"It's okay Parker. Maybe you can show me again?"

"Here Bones, use this bat. It's a lot bigger. And hold it like this," Booth moved up behind her, his arms covering hers, their backs perfectly aligned and his warm, big hands guiding hers as he showed her how to swing slowly.

Brennan was pretty sure she would never remember the lesson in her life. The slow, arching movement of the bat let her feel the straining muscles of his abdomen, biceps and hips grind excruciatingly slowly against her and as she swung, her hands shook embarrassingly.

"I…I got it," she nodded, a faint blush staining her cheeks. As he stepped away, she caught a glimpse of an insanely jealous face of a mother driving past in her minivan.

"You sure?" he teased, his own dark eyes even darker with _something_ dancing behind them. "You were awfully shaky there Bones."

"The bat gets heavy dad," protested Parker, "It's only her first time."

"It's only her first time," echoed Booth, "I gotcha." Brennan grinned a silly little girls grin.

"Parker you're pretty lucky to have a dad like Booth," she commented, swinging gingerly away from the group so as not to knock out any of Booth's more important assets.

"I know," said Parker fervently, "he's the best." Booth swooped down to chuck Parker in the air, but even as he did so, his eyes were on Brennan's. It was the closest declaration she would ever say aloud concerning her own family. Her eyes met his briefly before she stood behind the tee. With the two Booths cheering her on, she swung magnificently and with a loud crack, she felled the tee like a sapling.

"Oh," she said in shock, watching the ball wobble and tip to the ground. "That's harder than it looks."

"Like this Bones," chuckled Booth, quickly snapping the bat to and from his shoulder. Irritatingly, his bat made a satisfying crack that had the ball sailing in a perfect arc to the edge of the fence.

"Wow Dad!" said Parker, jumping up and down. "Do it again!" Brennan moved in closer.

"Come on Booth," she cheered. Feeling cocksure and preening under their praise, Booth made a big show of scratching the dirt with his shoes and spitting into the sand over Brennan's disgusted sounds. Winding dramatically up, he took a giant swing backwards, feeling his bat connect solidly with the post behind him, before letting loose a huge swing and the ball getting shot into the sky and over the fence. He jumped and let loose a loud whoop at his "home run" but turned to Parker when he realized he was the only one cheering.

"Dad?" said Parker with a frown on his face.

"What buddy? Why aren't you cheering? That was a great hit!" Parker pointed his finger. Booth followed his line of sight and to his horror, right behind where he had been standing was a crumpled lifeless form in a purple tank top.

"Bones!" he yelled, dashing towards her and sliding to a stop on his knees. "Bones!" He gently turned her over and was horrified to see a bleeding gash in a semicircular shape of a bat over her left eye.

"I thought I hit a post," he murmured frantically to himself, "I thought…" He turned to Parker. "Buddy! Buddy, why didn't you tell me I had hit her?"

"She just fell," Parker said, his voice rising to a whine, "She just fell and didn't get up. It was only a couple seconds. Dad? Is she gonna be okay?"

"I don't know buddy, I don't know. Grab your stuff. Leave the tees."

"But Dad…" Booth glared at him.

"I'm serious Parker, just leave them. Get all the stuff to the car." As he spoke, he scooped the lifeless form up in his arms and began his quick army clip to his black SUV; the only one left in the parking lot.

He laid her body in the back seat and strapped both seatbelts over her lifeless form and started the car, switching on the sirens, and scrambled to strap Parker into the front seat over Parker's protests he was too young to ride in front. Slamming the gas to the floor, Booth was on his cell phone in seconds weaving in and out of traffic as Parker, white faced, clutched the handle of the door.

"Rebecca? Yeah it's Seels, I've got an emergency here. Can you pick Parker up from the hospital? That's right, the hospital. No, no he's fine…Rebecca, it's…" his voice hitched, "it's Bones…I'm running her in now. It was faster than an ambulance. She just hit her head, but she's…she's not waking up."


	5. And Fear Stalks the Shadows

**Chapter 5: And Fear Stalks the Shadows**

**So this one kind of grew out of hand and long. But each part was too short by itself to be what I think of as a sustainable chapter. Yes, yes, this chapter is a little less fluffy and a little more grounded in angst and secret fears; but we have to have some contrast. Plus, I feel that some of this is even more heart wrenching than Booth and Brennan together. Let me know what you think ;)**

Booth paced angrily outside her hospital room. God he had been so stupid; what had he been thinking? That's it, he wasn't. He seethed as he resisted the urge to not only shoot every bit of shiny reflective surface that taunted him, but every doctor, nurse and tball shop in the country. _What could be taking so long?_ He gritted his teeth and paced again, knowing she was awake, but scared nonetheless.

Brennan had awoken in the CAT scan after Booth had carefully undressed her and put her into a flimsy paper nightgown. He had signed a paper declaring that they were engaged; their different last names and separate insurance wouldn't accept marriage, and he couldn't fake being a sibling, but his worried, hovering air had everyone in the hospital more than convinced of his love for her. It had been easy to slip her mother's glittering ring to the appropriate finger. It was almost mortifying to have the whole hospital know his relentless love when he himself had never admitted it to her. A very pretty petite blonde nurse offered him a fourth cup of coffee. He forced himself not to snatch it from her hands. His smile must have been like a mask of death for she scurried away before he downed half the cup in a gulp.

Coughing and spluttering, cursing under his breath at his now ruined taste buds up along his tongue and all down his throat, he gagged at the motor oil taste and chucked the cup into the trashcan he was prowling next to. He had been so scared, pressed against the glass and seeing her stir in the machine. Briefly panic stricken, she had clawed at the sides of the machine before a voice on the radio told her to relax; succumbing to logic she finally lay still, even though Booth had begged to talk to her, to apologize. The technician had been firm but sympathetic in restraining him.

Apparently lucid, she still had an iv in and was talking to the doctor who had finally and belatedly come into her room; Booth hadn't spoken to her since she had woken. He ran his hand over his jaw for the thousandth time, his signature worried move and crossed his big arms over his chest.

"Where is she?" came a half angry, half panicked voice. "Where is she?" There was a mumbling of directions and Booth almost groaned when he saw Angela striding furiously down the hall.

"You!" she screeched. "YOU HIT HER WITH A BAT?" She swung her purse at him and he ducked.

"Angela! Angela! It was an accident!"

"I knew I shouldn't have let her go with you, I knew it!" Booth grabbed her arms.

"Angela, you're making a scene," he ground out between gritted teeth.

"You're hurting me," she winced. He forced his fingers to un-pry themselves from around her upper arms. "Nice grip though." He ran his hand over his jaw again.

"What are you doing here Angela?"

"Brennan's emergency contact person is me," she panted.

"What?" he blinked, "I thought it was family. Mine is Jared…of course."

"And mine is my Dad," shrugged Angela. "But when Brennan filled hers out, I was the closest thing she had to family. Russ and Max weren't in the picture – and I recall her rather loathing your guts." Booth's jaw tightened.

"Angela," he warned in a low voice, "Don't freak out or blow this, but in order to get in here this far, I had to say we were engaged." Her brown eyes grew round.

"What?"

"I know, I know," he ran his hand through his hair and grabbed his own biceps again as he began pacing.

"Why didn't you just say married?" asked Angela blankly, "That's what I thought you had done. Every nurse in the hospital is whispering about your devotion." Booth wiped a hand over his face.

"Great. I couldn't say we were married because of the insurance. And wait, what? All the nurses are talking about me?"

"They all love you," confided Angela. At that moment, the petite blonde nurse stalked out of Brennan's room. Angrily she shoved medication into Booth's waiting hands.

"You're a real piece of work," she hissed, before stomping away.

"They all love me…right."

"What was that about?" wondered Angela under her breath. Booth shrugged. At that moment they were both distracted by Brennan being wheeled out in a wheelchair while arguing with the male nurse over her shoulder.

"Sir, I am perfectly capable of ambulatory motion."

"Ma'am, please remain in the chair." Brennan tried to get up but sank back, blanched and white as a sheet.

"Bones," stuttered Booth; for all his pacing, he didn't know where to begin. "Angela," he jerked a thumb at her, "is here. My car's out front. I can take her," he offered. The orderly shook his head stubbornly.

"Sorry sir, but my orders are to wheel her to her vehicle of transport."

"Ange what are you doing here?" snapped Brennan. "It's really not that big of a deal."

"I'm your emergency contact, remember?" she reminded her. Brennan blushed slightly, resurrecting some pretense of color into her cheeks. Booth tried not to stare at the bandage taped over the left side of her forehead.

"You shouldn't sleep alone tonight ma'am," instructed the orderly into the pregnant pause of the conversation.

"Absolutely not," said Angela.

"She's coming home with me," said Booth firmly. He heard an outraged gasp from the nurse's station to his utter confusion.

"Absolutely not," repeated Angela. Booth scowled fiercely when he heard a smattering of clapping from the nurses.

"Angela," protested Brennan. Angela put a hand up to stop the orderly wheeling her.

"Sweetie, Bren, look. I love Booth. And I love you. But tonight, you need to be watched; not kissed, or sexed…"

"Angela," rumbled Booth in a mixture of anger and consternation.

"I'm going with Booth," Brennan insisted.

"Then I'm staying the night too," said Angela, setting her mouth in such a way the two couldn't disagree. "Booth you have two places to sleep right?"

"A couch and a king bed," he grunted grudgingly.

"Brennan and I will take the king. You'll sleep in the other room on the couch."

"That's my bed," he complained, but his eyes were roving over Brennan's face hungrily, ascertaining the extent of her damage.

"Get the car," instructed Angela, "she can ride in yours because it's nicer, but I'll follow behind." As Booth left, he was bewildered to hear cheering from the nurse's station and briefly glimpsed a tightening in Brennan's fingers around papers in her lap.

The car ride was silent at first; Booth had lifted Brennan against her loud protests into the front seat and gently strapped her in. An old jacket of his scrounged from his trunk covered her legs, even though she had her regular clothes back on. It was a tense, awkward few moments before he broke.

"Bones, God I am so sorry. Brennan, I…I wasn't looking, Goddamnit," he smashed the steering wheel with a fist, "Goddamnit, thank _God_ you are okay. I could have smashed your brains in. I could have killed you. I could have killed you. Bones. My Bones. I could have... You would have been..." his voiced grew thick, distorted, barbling with emotion. Brennan looked askance at him shocked.

"You would have been…fifty four."

"No!" she spat vehemently, "No, Booth it wasn't your fault. I told you I was clumsy, and I moved too close. I saw it coming but I didn't move away. It was my fault, I stepped into it, I was stupid, reckless."

"Bones," groaned Booth, "don't try. I smashed your face in. You could have a scar the rest of your life." He stopped, horrified at his own words. The rest of her life. Every day he would look at her and see what he could have done, what he was capable of doing.

"But I won't," she said stubbornly. "It's a bad bruise, and a minor fracturing of the super orbital cavity but you missed my temporal lobe by inches; there won't be a scar, and although my head hurts, they gave me Vicadin for the pain. You'll have to watch me." A slow grin spread over her face. "You can make fun of my drug induced ramblings."

Her face grew clouded. She was suddenly very, very glad Angela would be coming along when she had to take her next dosage. Who knew what she would say aloud?

A slow unwanted grin cracked Booth's face. "Bones, you always know how to make me feel better." She impulsively grabbed his fingers for a light squeeze before grabbing the spilling papers on her lap.

"So what are those anyway?" She blushed and tried to shove them beneath the jacket covering her legs.

"Oh just flyers the doctors gave – hey!" He had snatched one while she was talking. "Watch the road!" she warned.

"Stoplight Bones. We're stop-" he paused abruptly, his eyebrows creasing into a dark scowl that quickly turned into a tortured, soul wrenching agony. As the light turned green, Brennan quickly snatched it out of his hands. They drove in pain laced silence. She could see Booth's jaw clenching and unclenching.

"It's ridiculous Booth," she said quickly.

"Is that why all the nurses were clapping for Angela?" he growled, but she could hear the anguish in his words.

"They saw my previous medical history," she said quietly.

"So?" he snapped.

"They saw New Orleans. You signed the discharge papers there too."

"So they think I _beat_ you?" he finally shouted, slamming his hand to the wheel again. A long, angry squeal came from the horn. Ahead, Angela gave them the finger. Booth's eyes were mere slits in his face; Brennan knew it was because they were swimming with tears.

"Booth, you know how ridiculous that is," she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. Out of her own pain she felt her eyes stare of their own volition away from him, out her own window.

"You know my history Bones," he wiped a hand over his jaw, "you know what this means to me."

"Booth," she started, "It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter? What if you get in another accident? And I'm there? And you get more stupid, _stupid, GODDAMN FUCKING FLYERS!_" With his yell, he ripped the papers from her hands and threw them in the back seat. Brennan was taken aback, he hardly ever cursed so blatantly. "THEY THINK I BEAT YOU AT HOME! GODDAMNIT BONES, GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!"

"Booth." She said it as one word; she forced her eyes to look at him. He was panting, outraged, and scared. His eyes finally met hers, and she declined to mention a single tear trace that outlined his clenched, quivering strong jaw. She knew what he was afraid of, and she said it: "You are not your father."

"What if I am?" he whispered the words, and the rushing silence that filled the air after his complete loss of temper was like a hiss of water on hot metal. "What if…"

"It's erroneous to assume that because you share DNA with one parent means you are an exact replica. Has Jared ever hit Padme?"

"What? _No_! Jared would _never_ lay a hand on a woman."

"But you agree he is more like your father of the two of you. He did have a drinking problem."

"And I had a gambling problem."

"But your father was an alcoholic, not a degenerate gambler."

"So?"

"So, does that mean Jared, when he and Padme copulate –"

"Bones, we've talked about the slang before."

"Fine, when he and Padme 'get it on' –"

"Forget the slang – it sounds awful from your mouth."

"Do you think Jared will be a bad father?" Her words hung in the air, suspended on hope and fear. Booth swallowed. He had obviously wondered about it. He finally spoke, weighing his words, his eyes far away.

"No. Jared will be a great father. He loves Parker, and he's a good kid, Jared."

"But your hypothesis that he is most like your own father is still a correct assumption."

"Yes." The word was dragged from him unwillingly.

"So under what circumstances would you ever hit Parker?"

"Bones! I would _never_ raise a hand to my son, how could you even say something like that? You know me."

"I do. I know you Booth." Brennan's eyes lit with the same light that caught fire when she had finally figured out the case they were working on. "I know you, and I know what you are capable of, and what you aren't. Your job as a sniper was out of patriotic pride for your country, out of a fervent belief you were saving lives."

"I _was_ saving lives," he sniped.

"But hitting innocent women and children is not in your fundamental belief system; you justify every one of your actions – there is no justifying domestic abuse to you, especially as a child from a broken home. Ergo, the logical conclusion of your precluded argument is that you never could, and never will, succumb to what you believe was your father's greatest sin." Booth's jaw was still clenched, and his knuckles were white around the steering grip, but his eyes were wider, more thoughtful and his face slowly turned to hers.

"Okay," he whispered.

"Okay what?" she said blankly.

"Bones, I don't know what I did to deserve a partner like you. You always know what to say."

"That's an anathema," she said, suppressing a pleased smile, "I hardly ever know what to say; you are constantly reminding me of that."

"To me, you know what to say."

"To me, _you_ always know what to say, Booth."

"It's because I know you."

"And I you." They shared a crooked grin as his car pulled into the parking garage of his apartment building.

"Angela probably noticed your tantrum," sniffed Brennan. Booth's eyes smiled until he saw her face.

"Take another Vicadin Bones; you're starting to look pale." He opened her door for her before running around the front of the car to help her out.

"I'm always pale," she teased. He grinned, holding her hand as she stepped out of the car; for a moment they stood suspended until Angela bounded up.

"This is what I came to stop," she said, shaking her head in exasperation. "Moon later. Sick nurse now. Honey, you should take a Vicadin, you look a little pale."

"I'm always pale," retaliated Brennan sourly as they both laughed, and flanking her, helped her to the elevator.

"Angela, this is ridiculous," groused Brennan as Angela helped her into her pajama pants, steadying her with a hand.

"You're lucky that I thought of bringing you a change of clothes," she remarked with raised eyebrows.

"Thanks," said Brennan grudgingly. Angela flashed her a quick smile as she herself began stripping down. Uncomfortable with Angela's blatant sexuality, Brennan turned her back over Angela's teasing comments right as Booth opened the door. His hand threw itself up at Angela's shriek before she wrestled quickly into her tank.

"Like what you see Booth?" she commented throatily before Booth, red faced, apologized for the third time.

"I didn't realize you were still changing," he said quickly. He looked at the king bed that was his room, then around the room, grazing over the armchair he sometimes read reports in next to the nightstand and lamp, his dresser that he had swiftly shut the drawers to hide the mess and at the sparse decoration. "You all set?" he asked, giving a thumbs up. Brennan nodded.

"Angela," she said for the hundredth time, "there really is no need for you to stay. Booth is perfectly capable of watching over me; I stayed with him many times before when he was concussed."

"You make it sound like I have permanent brain damage Bones," argued Booth, "It wasn't _that_ many times."

"Well this time we can't go ice skating," she said, looking crestfallen.

"You two went ice skating?" said Angela suspiciously.

"After the hockey murder," clarified Booth.

"In the middle of the night too," laughed Brennan.

"Bones is a horrible skater. She fell at least 20 times."

"But he always helped me back up," smiled Brennan. The two shared a long look that Angela was so used to sharing with Hodgins. A lump grew in her throat and she looked at the floor.

"Well this time you'll have to put up with me," said Angela, with a fake little smile. Brennan didn't notice; Booth did.

"If you ever hit Hodgins with a bat, or he gets bit by a snake, we'll be sure to show up on your doorstep," smirked Booth. Angela wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"Get out," she laughed. "Girl time, finally." She shut the door, but Booth opened it quickly.

"I'm in the next room over, on the couch Bones, okay?" Brennan nodded.

"I know where you are Booth." He hitched his jeans up by his cocky belt buckle.

"I'm going to change, watch some TV, then hit the hay."

"Hay is for horses," echoed Brennan. Booth forced a laugh.

"Funny Bones."

"I know," she said, lifting her chin and giving him a look laden with meaning, "I'm a funny Bones; that's why I'm _humorous_!"

"You may stop now," Angela informed her. Booth winked and closed the door with a click as the two women climbed into bed. Angela forced a glass of water into her hand and a Vicadin. Brennan looked briefly fearful, but she dutifully swallowed the pill without the water, to Angela's disgust. Putting the glass on the nightstand next to her, she lay back to sleep.

Booth woke with a start, unsure of what had woken him. His ranger senses never truly allowed him to sleep as soundly as he wished. Usually as he started awake at the sound of a motorcycle or a falling tree branch, listened for a minute or so, then drifted back to sleep. He lay, his heart rate quieting, listening to his empty apartment. He was at first bemused by his location; he didn't remember why he was on the couch until he saw Brennan's shoes by the door. His guilt flooded him and he grunted, punching his lumpy pillows and flipping onto his back and wrestling out of his shirt, too hot to keep it on. As he finally settled into his sway backed couch, he heard a muffled noise. He froze. It came again, and he realized without a doubt this was what had woken him. Standing up cautiously and grabbing the bat that Angela had so kindly swabbed of blood when he couldn't bear looking at it, he stalked cautiously to his bedroom, worried someone was trying to break in.

He opened the door slowly and froze, the noise reiterating itself. Booth lowered his bat once he realized the windows were closed the noise was coming from his partner. Both women looked beautiful sleeping in the moonlight. Facing opposite directions, their hair mingled in the middle, light and dark trapped the light and reflected it on their skin and parted lips. His heart wrenched as he noticed Bones was sleeping on his side of the bed. He gingerly leaned the bat against the doorframe and crept in the room. A monstrous snore ripped through the air, and Booth froze, momentarily petrified by the sound until a large grin split his face when he realized the sound was coming out of the mouth of serenely sleeping Angela. She thrashed quickly before settling down. In retaliation, Bones squirmed farther towards the edge, Angela hogging all the space.

As he stepped closer, Booth was breath taken with Brennan's beauty. Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight like marble as titan brown hair fanned around her. Her lids were closed over her blue eyes, over her icy blue soul. As Booth moved closer, he was startled by another noise: a faint whimper as she curled closer to herself. He glanced quickly at Angela, who didn't stir; she slept like the dead on the lab tables.

He noticed that Brennan's cheek glistened with tear tracks and her breath hitched. She let loose a little moan; not the moans Booth was used to hearing in his bed. This one was full of undisguised terror and revulsion.

"Bones," he hissed in a whisper, not quite daring to touch her bare shoulder, "Bones, wake up." She cried more, the thick glistening drops welling underneath her tightly shut lashes. They dropped down her face as she shuddered, little sobs escaping her that he knew she would have never allowed during the day. The last time he had heard such undisguised terror was the day they had become friends: when he had rescued her four years ago from a rogue FBI agent working for the mob who had intended to key out her eyes and feed her insides to dogs. Her panting, breathless sobs against his neck were now shaking the bed. In panic, Booth looked around, unsure of what for, and frantically at Angela. She slept as soundly as ever, letting loose another brain rattling snore and settling back to a deeper slumber. Booth crouched beside the bed and took Brennan's face between his hands.

"Bones, wake up. Wake up." He shook her slightly, afraid to wake Angela. Brennan awoke in a panic, breathing rapid and shallow, her eyes flicking over his face, her tears not ceasing until she regained a measure of control. She didn't seem to realize her tears for she frowned and said,

"Booth? What's wrong? I'm up. I'm up." She tried to groggily sit in the bed, but he pushed her back.

"You're going to wake Angela," he hissed at her, and she turned over, disconcerted.

"Why did you wake me then?" she whispered back. His face was blank with surprise.

"You were crying."

"I was _what?_"

"Crying. In your sleep. You looked like you were having a nightmare." Her face flushed.

"What? I was crying?" Unconsciously, her fingers raised themselves to her cheeks, which were still damp with salty tears.

"Do you remember your dream?" She shook her head but her eyes flooded of their own accord, to her embarrassment. Booth hugged her as she began shaking. "It was so horrible," she whimpered, sobbing into his neck. "I'm sorry it was just…so real." In one smooth movement, he had cradled her legs in one arm and her back in the other and swept her from the bed the few steps to his armchair by the nightstand where he sat, holding her as he would an infant, rocking her.

"I'm running, in Iraq…" she began in a whisper, and Booth froze, his own nightmares stalking awake in the shadows of the alarm clock screaming three am in the green light of night goggles. "But it turns into Darfur, and then Ecuador, and everywhere there is genocide. And the children, they aren't fully decomposed, but they stand up, grabbing at me, begging me to…to…" she was shaking now, so hard that Booth began frantically rocking his arms again, as he had done with Parker many a long night. "But then," her eyes were wide and silvery in the moonlit room, "then they become skeletons, and they chase me into the lab, and I realize all those skeletons chasing me are you and Angela, Cam and Hodgins, and Zack is standing over them all holding a knife, but it doesn't have any blood on it…" her breath hitched in a terrified sob, and his arms pressed her face into his chest, "but the knife is clean," she wept, "and the man with the smoking gun is my father, and I'm looking for you, but you're in your coffin at your funeral, and I'm stuck in a lab full of skeletons." She finished in a broken whisper shaking apart in his arms, her secret fears saying so much about her, but Booth said not a word.

"Shhhh," he murmured, and Brennan finally realized the reason her usually cold body was so warm was because most of her curled up form was pressed against bare flesh, heating her through her scant tank and shorts. Without thinking she nuzzled against him and they stayed together in an armchair, without any words.

But it was enough; words simply weren't.

Angela awoke early, as her early morning job dictated, and relished it was a Saturday. She stretched languorously in her bed, but realized quickly from the smell of the sheets and the design of the room that she wasn't at her own apartment. She quickly scanned through her memories, wondering if she had in fact, ended up at the bar alone without Brennan. Although she had memories of a quick drink, the hospital and the almost comedic accident (though she knew nothing of the flyers Brennan had been given) came rushing back. She turned to look at her best friend's sleeping face, when she realized her side of the bed was conspicuously empty. She sat up, startled, and disgruntled to realize her own best friend had done the irritating man thing to sneak out early and avoid the awkward morning-after conversation. Then she saw the two forms in the armchair. Jumping up in indignation, she strode towards them, mouth open to berate Booth to keep his hands off her for one moment, when she stopped, touched and confused. The puffiness of Brennan's eyes was a foreign concept to her; Brennan never cried, not a soul wrenching gut cry such as this one must have been, with Angela. Booth's arms had slid from her curled form and rested firmly on each arm of the chair. His chest rose and fell under Brennan's head and hand. Tear tracks through his own stubble glinted faintly in the dawn light; Brennan couldn't have possibly seen them in the faint light of the stars. Their completely asexual pose flooded Angela with guilt and a deep welling of shame. What she saw before her was blatant love, carved perfectly out of living flesh.

Eyes pricking at her accusations from the previous day and finally seeing with her own eyes a pure, transcendent love she herself had never experienced, Angela swallowed her words and turned away. Finding the discarded blanket on the couch Booth had abandoned, she gently draped it over the two. For once, Booth didn't awaken, but his head dropped atop Brennan's and Angela quietly gathered her purse, her shoes and left.


	6. Black Eye and Peas

**Chapter 6: Black Eye and Peas**

**This chapter was a little shorter than I intended, but I realized there wasn't much point in keeping it in my computer as I pondered my next move. Bon appétit!**

Temperance Brennan was awoken the next morning by two simultaneous occurrences. The first was a loud voice calling through the apartment, "Seeley! I used the spare key to let myself in man. Seels? Dude, I brought lunch… and Padme, so make yourself presentable." The second occurrence was Booth shooting up into a standing position at the turning of the lock and unceremoniously dumping Brennan onto the floor.

"Ow!" she screeched grumpily before noticing Booth wincing in pain.

"Sleeping in the chair all night was not a good idea," he muttered under his breath. Jared walked in just as Brennan herself staggered upright. She glanced back at the bed, which was unmade and obviously had been slept in on both sides. Booth was shirtless and her tank top straps had slipped down her arms. Both were flushed from sleeping without moving for several consecutive hours under the blanket.

"Dude," grinned Jared as Padme peeked around his arm and withdrew with a slight smile. "You could have warned me man."

"Jared," said Booth stepping forward, "man, nothing happened. Last night…"

"Oh my God Tempe," interrupted Jared, and Booth secretly seethed at his casual first name basis. "What happened to your face?"

"Don't say it like that," snapped Booth, "she just…Bones! Your face!" Horrified at their reactions, Brennan scooted a few feet to the left and looked into the small mirror hanging above Booth's dresser. Overnight her face had swollen and purpled beyond the bandage. Her left optical cavity now sported what Booth would call "one hell of a shiner." She winced both at the look and at the pain.

"Bones – here." Booth was suddenly behind her in the mirror, dropping a large white pill into her hand. Grimacing, she swallowed it without thinking twice. Jared started giggling inanely in the background.

"Bro…did you? Oh God, you said this happened last night?" he couldn't keep back his squealing guffaws as he coughed into his hand. Booth looked as if he wanted to murder his brother then and there.

"No Jared," protested Brennan, trying to ameliorate the situation, "Booth his me with a bat, not his fist." The laughter stopped abruptly. Padme looked shocked.

"Not like that!" shouted Booth. "Jeesh, I'm so tired of everyone assuming that I hit Bones with a bat on purpose!" Brennan frowned.

"Who suggested that? You would never hit anyone with a bat on purpose."

"Yeah I know," smoldered Booth, "but apparently, that's the kind of guy I am."

"Easy man," said Jared, cuffing his shoulder. "So how'd it happen?"

"I was trying to teach Bones how to play tball with Parker last night after his game."

"Did he win?" asked Jared. Booth's brow scrunched up.

"That's seriously what you're worried about? Yes, yes, they won." Padme took a step into the room, seeming not at all shocked by their intimacy. Brennan found it odd until she remembered her past as a callgirl.

"So what happened?" asked Padme.

"I stepped into Booth's swing," answered Brennan sheepishly while Booth simultaneously said,

"I hit Bones from behind without looking." They both stopped, glaring at each other.

"It was my fault Booth," argued Brennan.

"No Bones," he retaliated brusquely, "I should have looked."

"Whoa, whoa," said Jared, holding up his hands. "First off, Tempe you look awful. Do you need to lie down?"

"My stitches are fine," she frowned. Booth looked over in confusion until he saw the hazy clouds in her eyes.

"Vicadin is kicking in," he chortled, "this should be good. Last time I saw Bones high was…well…"

"What?" asked Padme in a shocked voice.

"It was an accident," sighed Brennan, "we were investigating a meth bust at a club. The lights were really…pretty." Not seeming to notice the recent exchange Jared blurted,

"Stitches?"

"We had a little eventful trip to the hospital," muttered Booth, "which is _why_ she stayed the night. No other reason. She needed someone to watch her."

"Where'd Angela go?" said Brennan, lucid again. Booth did a double take at his apartment and wandered out of the bedroom.

"No idea," he said in puzzlement. He saw the blanket on the floor and a soft smile came to his face. "But she's a hell of a woman, Angela is."

"Hodgins is a good man," corroborated Brennan.

"Maybe you should lie down," seconded Padme, catching Brennan's wobbling elbow as she stumbled.

"I'm fine," she said automatically. "I want to get changed." She glanced around for the bag of clothes Angela had brought her.

"Good idea," said Booth, folding his arms over his bare chest. "Jared…what are you doing here? It's too early for this."

"Seeley," scoffed Jared, "It's 12:20."

"What?" Booth was floored. He hadn't slept this late uninterrupted in years.

"Yeah man, I brought lunch. Padme and I were going to have a movie marathon later. I was wondering if you wanted to come…maybe bring somebody? But I guess since Tempe is here…"

"Would you like to watch movies Temperance?" Padme called politely through the bathroom door.

"That would be…excellent. I mean, excellent. Yes, I just said that." There was a confused pause and she yanked the door open. Padme grimaced.

"I haven't seen a black eye this badly since the girls would come home roughened up. I've got a few tricks to help the swelling." She took Brennan's elbow over her weak protests. "Go sit on the couch with…Booth. Seeley. You know who I mean," she sounded irritated. "Ask Jared what he brought for lunch while I look around the kitchen."

Brennan staggered toward the couch, head swimming.

"Booth?" she called weekly. He was immediately there, half carrying her and half guiding her as she snapped viciously at him. "I'm not an infant. You are being preposterous."

"Trust you to use big words on Vicadin," he grumbled.

"What's a big word, preposterous? You are such a Neanderthal."

"And we're back to anthropologist," groaned Booth, setting her gently in a sitting position in a corner of the couch. "Bro, take care of her while I change?"

"Sure, sure," said Jared. "Padme?" he called.

"Just a minute!" she yelled back, "I'm looking for some Epsom salt, frozen peas and a citrusy fruit like orange juice or a pineapple."

"We have mangoes in the bag," offered Jared. "What are they for?"

"They're for me," groaned Brennan, "the vitamin C produces an enzyme that changes the molecular structure of the blood, so it's more easily absorbed by the body. The best fruit in vitamin C rich supplements is papaya, but broccoli and other citrus fruits work as well."

"Look at you," chuckled Jared, sounding uncannily like Booth for a minute, "sporting a shiner and spewing science."

Padme came back into the room with an armful of objects. They clattered to the table and she immediately handed Brennan a pack of green peas, still icy from Booth's freezer.

"This'll mold better to your face than an ice pack. Press gently," she instructed.

"You playing nurse is so hot," grinned Jared. Brennan groaned, both from the awkward exchange she couldn't escape, and from the instant relief to her hot, swollen face when she pressed the frozen peas against it. Padme stuck her tongue out and scurried back to the kitchen. She returned carrying a bowl of cut fruit and a larger, plastic bowl full of steaming water and a washcloth floating around.

"Okay, remove the peas," she instructed, and handed the bowl of fruit to Brennan's seeking hand. "Eat this pineapple. Jared will gladly cut you up a papaya." Jared's mouth opened but he closed it and dug in the bag he had brought. "In the kitchen," continued Padme icily when Jared attempted to slice it on the coffee table.

"This might sting," she cautioned, and wringing the wet steaming washcloth, she folded it expertly and applied it over Brennan's eye. Brennan hissed.

"What's in that?" she coughed.

"Epsom salt and hot water. It cleans the cuts and boils away infection."

"Also the hot water in contrast will force the blood to leech from my skin in order to seek my core body."

"Very good," smiled Padme, "you really are a scientist after all."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Brennan, offended.

"For a while here, you were starting to look like a prizefighter." Brennan's face reluctantly cracked into a smile and Padme smiled radiantly back.

"Okay, it's getting cool again," sighed Brennan. She reapplied the frozen peas and winced at the contrast.

"I can get a towel to wrap it in," offered Padme.

"No, the sudden change in temperature is more effective than a gradual one."

"Have some orange juice then."

"I'm going to die of overdose on Vitamin C," groaned Brennan, but she dutifully downed half the glass.

"Easy there Bones," said Booth, coming in, fully clothed, "that's only orange juice, not a bottle of jack."

"Pineapple," drilled Padme. Brennan popped a piece into her mouth. The sweet juice dripped a little over her lip and Booth, grinning, wiped it off gently with his thumb while her eyes were closed. At his contact, her one eye popped open in surprise, but smiled up at him as he stole a piece of pineapple from her bowl.

"I see what Jared meant," giggled Padme. They both turned to look at her.

"About what?" frowned Booth.

"Nothing," said Padme airily, "you two are too funny."

"We're just partners," reiterated Brennan, hearing tone in her voice.

"Just partners," echoed Jared in time with Booth as he returned bearing another small bowl of papaya. "Tempe." He handed the bowl to her as she sighed.

"Could we please not all stare at me? I'm finding it vaguely disconcerting, and not to mention embarrassing." She switched her washcloth for the hot Epsom salt water as Jared opened a bag.

"Bon appétit," he grinned.

"Does this seem vaguely familiar?" joked Booth to Brennan.

"Déjà vu," she laughed and they all sat down to eat on the couch.


	7. Bourne To Play This Game

**Chapter 7: Bourne To Play This Game**

**Going to be honest, I'm pretty sure this thing just writes itself. I never know what's happening until I've read it over.**

"Okay," said Jared, rummaging through his bag. "We have some trilogies and whatnot. I'll read them off and we'll all vote yes or no."

"Okay, what do we have?" Booth asked, his arm around Brennan who was leaning her head back over his elbow, icing her black eye.

"Number one: Star Wars."

"Which ones?" asked Padme, "Episodes 1-3 or 4-6?" Jared checked the spine of the cases.

"The old school ones."

"I hate Star Wars," protested Brennan loudly. They all turned to stare at her as she lowered the ice pack defiantly.

"Have you even seen it?" scoffed Booth.

"No," she said mulishly.

"But it's science fiction," said Booth with his usual charming smile, "it even has the word science in the title. You'll like it."

"I _hate_ science fiction," griped Brennan, "Everything is _wrong._ Nothing they accomplish could ever actually happen. They completely violate the laws of physics! I mean, warp drive. The warp theory states that you can travel millions of light years in very little time; do you realize how much energy it would take to propel a ship in stasis to a velocity of that magnitude in a vacuum with absolutely no mass?"

"Warp drive is Star Trek," pointed out Jared. Booth shot him a glare.

"Whatever," said Brennan petulantly. "I say no." The two brothers shared a glance and Jared shrugged.

"Next we have Lord of the Rings. I vote yes."

"Me too," chimed Padme.

"No," groaned Brennan dramatically, flinging her hands out in a theatrical gesture. Booth caught one before it knocked his teeth in. "Why would I be better off with fantasy than science fiction?"

"I'm with you there Bones," commented Booth, "also, it's 1:30. These three movies are 12 hours long; it'll be 1:30 am before we're finished, and I have to take Bones home tonight."

"Will you be staying with her?" asked Padme, completely straight faced. Booth searched for a hint of a taunt but found none.

"I don't know," he answered honestly.

"Next!" called Brennan loudly. Booth frowned at her.

"You feeling okay there Bones?" he put his hand on her forehead.

"I'm fine," she scoffed.

"You're pretty hot," he pointed out.

"You too," she returned pushing futilely at his ribcage.

"I bet it's the painkillers," offered Padme. Booth's face broke into a slow smile, considering the impending amusements he could tease her with.

"Next!" called Brennan more loudly. Jared dug through his bag.

"How about Back to the Future?" In unison, Booth and Brennan gave thumbs down.

"Ridiculous hypothesis," she shrugged completely in sync with Booth who said,

"Only the first one is good."

"Harry Potter?" suggested Padme, taking matters to her own hands. Even Jared declined.

"And you think Lord of the Rings is long."

"Plus the plot it tired and trite," pointed out Brennan, "it's the classic _bildungsroman_ archetypal epic of a young boy overcoming the obstacles –"

"I happen to love Harry Potter," frowned Booth, "I read them to Parker."

"Based on Tempe's resistance to science fiction, I'll just skip The Matrix."

"What else have you got?" sighed Booth.

"Last two," said Jared, "I've got all the Pirates of the Carribean movies and the Bourne trilogy."

"Jason Bourne," said Padme immediately.

"Agreed," seconded Booth.

"I got no qualms," shrugged Jared. All three looked at Brennan who shrugged blankly.

"I've never seen any of them."

"Do you know what they are?" cried Jared in outrage as Padme moved to set the first disk in the cradle of the DVD player.

"They're spy movies. Espionage stuff. He's an assassin with amnesia." Booth grinned. "The stunts are epic." Brennan frowned.

"I would think you would hate a government conspiracy movie about an assassin. Doesn't that remind you of your own exploits in the military?" There was a painful, awkward silence as Booth clenched his jaw.

"Tempe," said Jared under his breath.

"Movie!" squealed Padme loudly, effectively breaking the thick tension by jumping onto Jared who fell in a dramatic tackle on top of her.

"Get off!" she panted. He instead struck a model pose, propping his hand under his ear and grinding more heavily on top of her.

"No, no, this is good. I could spend around eight or nine hours like this."

"Jared!" Booth looked over at Brennan to gage how comfortable she felt with the two of them wrestling on the couch. She had tilted her head backwards and her eyes were closed, frozen peas thawed and tucked under one arm. Her face was pale and covered in goosebumps where it wasn't purple.

"Hey Bones, hey…" his unease immediately forgotten, he jumped up a few feet and dragged the blanket he had used overnight over her. Tucking her firmly in, he then wedged himself close to her, draping an arm around her. Woozy, she immediately tipped into the space between his arm and his collarbone, like her head was meant to fit there.

"You can wake me up when it starts," she murmured sleepily. He assented, but she couldn't hear him as she was already falling asleep; instead his voice reverberated in his chest cavity and she listened to it with a slight thrill. The only other thought she had before she fell asleep is that he was lying; she could tell he wouldn't wake her for the world.

The gunshots woke her. She started awake, flinching both out of reflex and realizing where she was. She sat up quickly, looking in awe at the television screen. Glancing to one side while attempting to tame her hair, she saw Padme snuggled, wide eyed, over Jared's lap, his hands idly stroking her hair, her cheek or the bare skin between her sleeve and her neck as he too, stared avidly at the film.

"What's going on?" she asked Booth. He looked at her, slightly irked.

"It's a movie Bones."

"I meant in the plot. What's happened?"

"We're halfway through," he groused.

"I want to know what's happening." They received twin glares from Padme and Jared.

"Shh, I'll tell you later."

"We have two other movies Booth, I won't understand."

"I'll tell you in between," he murmured.

"Why not now?"

"Bones, there are other people here."

"I'm confused."

"Just _watch_. You'll catch on."

"What if I don't?"

"You're the genius. Figure it out."

"Booth!"

"Shh!" Both Jared and Padme hissed.

"Booth, who is that man? I know him!" she said excitedly. "He's an actor! Yes, yes, Angela speaks highly of him." Booth rolled his eyes. "Mike David or something."

"Matt Damon." Padme's voice was clipped.

"Anyways – why is he carrying a gun?" Booth refused to answer, staring pointedly at the screen. "And why is he in a bank? Where did he get those passports? Oh! Who's that? Why are they fighting? And who's she-" Booth's hand clamped over her face.

"Hush, Bones," he grumbled into her ear. "Just…Shh." She glared at him with her pristinely blue eye and her other squinting around layers of black and purple skin, her furrowed brow wrinkling the bandage taped there. He refused to engage, not looking at her or letting go, even when she began squirming. It had little effect; he had trapped her tightly between the edge of the couch arm and his own body. The blanket was cocooned around her so even her arms were pinned. She thrashed her head a little, but then glared viciously at him as a smug little smile crept onto his lips. She did the only thing he could think of.

"Ugh! Bones!" Booth held his hand away from her mouth, a long trail of saliva still connecting the two as she smiled superciliously. "I'd expect this from Parker, but, ugh…" he wiped his hand on his jeans. He turned his disgruntled face to find Padme and Jared sharing a knowing smile. Disgusted both with them and Bones' long tongue, he stood up. "I'm making popcorn," he grunted.

"Can we stop the movie for a moment?" Brennan politely requested, freeing herself from the hot sauna of the blanket. "I'm a little behind."

Booth groaned as Padme obliged. After the summary, Booth returned with two bowls of popcorn, still smelling sweetly of butter.

"This is going to clog your arteries," Brennan told him primly. Booth retaliated by licking the kernels up with his tongue.

"Hey," she pouted, "that's just gross."

"But fun," he grinned. "I had to put up with your tongue, so now you'll have to put up with mine." Padme coughed a little into her Diet Coke.

"Fun?" she frowned. They were ignoring the movie. Booth held the bowl beneath her chin.

"Try it," he urged with his little boy's smile. Gingerly, she stuck her tongue onto a flake of popcorn. It stuck, and she retracted it gleefully. She laughed, as did he and they ate the entire bowl that way, to the other couple's disgust.

Eventually Padme shrugged out of Jared's casual embrace and popped the next movie in.

"I wasn't done," protested Brennan, "Booth was distracting me at the ending."

"I could be distracting Padme," muttered Jared under his breath, "but that would defeat the purpose of actually _watching_ a movie, which is why we asked you here."

"To chaperone?" said Booth dryly.

"It's the other way around," smirked Jared. He ducked as Booth punched him in the arm. "Ouch," he griped.

As the next movie began, so did Brennan's insistent whispers into Booth's ear. Both irritated and completely disconcerted at the fanning tendrils of her scent whisking over his jaw and down his neck, Booth shivered beneath his clothes before clamping his hand around her jaw.

"YEHT GVO" she seethed around his fingers.

"No more licking," he instructed, his finger waggling in front of her eyes. "Now hold still. I got you some frozen corn for your eye and a fresh bowl of Epsom salt. Oh, yeah, and a glass of orange juice that I suppose," he beamed coyly, "you'll have to wait to drink." He reached for the ice pack and settled it over her eye, forcing her to hold it in place with one of her hands. The other scrabbled futilely at the outside of his knuckles until his other hand grasped hers tightly on the couch between them. Glancing sideways in an attempt to devise a devious plot, Brennan was shocked to notice Jared and Padme's similar pose, their hands grasped loosely between them, radiant smiles on their faces as Padme watched the television and Jared watched her face in its glow. Disconcerted, Brennan went for stealth.

Laying her head against his shoulder, she snuggled into his chest. Booth looked down at her in surprise until he saw her face and he started sniggering under his breath.

"Almost had me there Bones, almost did. But I know you too well to fall for this little plan." Stiffening upright, she sat, glaring, forcing the beads of icy corn into her flesh until Booth pried her fingers away and replaced it with a hot washcloth of Epsom salt water. They were silent for several minutes, and gradually Brennan felt Booth unwind next to her and grow less vigilant. At that precise moment she sucked a fold of skin between her teeth and watched his eyes grow wide.

"You wouldn't," he hissed. She nodded. He shrugged. "You wouldn't," he said confidently. She hadn't been planning to, but his cockiness aggravated her. She bit down until she heard a satisfying howl.

"Jesus Bones! What have I told you! No teeth, we've been over this, _no teeth_." Jared and Padme dissolved into helpless laughter at the entendre and tittered even when Booth glared at them. Brennan smugly drank her orange juice and watched the movie. Sour and hurt, Booth sank back into the cushions next to her. His anger brimmed between them until she actually felt slightly bad. However, as the movie progressed, his muscles slowly unwound, his arms uncrossed, and she watched as his neck unknotted. He reached for the popcorn and offered her some as a peace offering. Meekly, she acquiesced by taking a small handful.

"That was ours," said Jared sardonically. "But feel free." However, Jared was suddenly occupied with Padme climbing into his lap and settling herself.

Booth and Brennan shared a look and had to look away from each other to keep from giggling. She felt the last of the tension ease. She looked mournfully for the blanket until Booth, grinning, reached behind the couch where he had vengefully hidden it. Brennan smiled, and she saw his smile falter; she didn't remember why until he gentle hands reached up to peel away the white bandage. She tried to stop him, but he batted her hands away as he examined her stitches. Patting it gently back into place, Booth looked chagrined. Instead, Brennan spread the blanket over the both of them and drew her legs up. After flailing for a few minutes, she was upset she couldn't find a position that was comfortable. Fed up with her squirming, Booth drew her legs firmly over his. Settling into the corner of the couch, they both finally turned their attention to the movie.

At 7:30 the final movie concluded as Brennan blinked sleepily awake.

"I fell asleep again?" she squawked, a bit peeved. "What happened? Did he shoot everyone? Did they leave him alone?"

"You'll have to watch them again and see," smiled Jared.

"You could watch them again with Booth," suggested Padme. Brennan clenched her jaw mulishly and glared at him.

"I told you to keep me awake."

"After all that popcorn Bones, you got a little drowsy."

"Drugs always have that effect on me," she said gloomily. She squinted, trying to recall the afternoon; it was a hazy blur. "Was I inappropriate?" she said, swallowing. She was less concerned with making a fool of herself than with what she might have confessed.

"Well let's see," teased Booth, ticking things off on his fingers, "You licked me. Slurped up the popcorn, and then bit me. Oh, and while you were asleep, you kicked me too." Brennan blushed, but Booth laid off of her when he saw the headache forming between her eyes.

"I think your black eye looks better," offered Padme as she and Jared packed up to leave.

"Thanks for all your help," returned Brennan with a gracious nod. Padme smiled and her eyes flicked irritatingly from her face to Booth's, the way that Cam's and Angela's were constantly doing. "Good luck…with that."

"Okay," said Brennan blankly. Padme hugged her briefly.

"Don't play dumb," she called her out in a whisper. She drew back and waved cheerily, and the two of them left, leaving Brennan still blushing.

"Come on then Bones," said Booth cheekily, "time to move this party back to your place." Brennan stood, but upon turning her head she winced.

"Ugh, I reek."

"I was gonna say something Bones," joked Booth, "but I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"I should shower." Booth was immediately concerned.

"I don't know if that's a good idea. Why don't you wait until we get back to your apartment? You could wait for Angela-"

"I'm not severely injured Booth," she groaned. "I'm fine. The concussion never presented itself. It has been over 24 hours. And I've spent every minute with you. Have I seemed any different in that time?" She held her breath, unsure of his response.

"Not really," he conceded, nose wrinkling, "other than biting me. And interrupting the movie." She frowned back around her black eye, but winced when it tugged the skin of her forehead too taut.

"Easy there Bones, you've had a long day. Hand please."

"I have not! I've been asleep and what-" he grabbed her hand and she flushed. He held it a second too long, grinning cockily before opening her fingers gently and dropping the narcotic into her palm.

"I don't want this," she said looking at it with disgust. "It makes me tired. And queasy."

"You're upset. And in pain, this will help."

"I hardly think drugging me is a way to help anything," she scoffed. He grimaced but laughed. He pulled a serious face.

"Don't make me force you to take it." She scowled, but judging his reaction, she dutifully finished the rest of her orange juice and took the pill.

"You'll stay tonight?" she asked as he helped her gather her things, motioning her to leave the dirty dishes where they were. Ignoring him, she took her utensils to the sink and chucked the corn back in the freezer next to the peas.

"Bones," he said softly as she washed the dishes over his protests. "Bones," he said more loudly, his hands wrapping around her forearms. "Stop. Just stop. Let me get you home." Her skin was hot and flushed under his hands. "You're pretty warm. Let's get you to your apartment. You can take a shower, I'll get you ice packs, and tuck you in. We'll go from there okay?"

"You're saying no." Her voice was small, hurt. Booth immediately felt a rush of protectiveness inflate his chest.

"I'll stay," he said definitively, "if you want me to."

"I…do."

"Okay. Let me pack a bag. Grab the keys okay?"

20 minutes later he pulled into her apartment complex and looked over at her head; she had turned away from him in the car, partly, he guessed, out of embarrassment for her vulnerability, and partly out of her stubbornness not to make him feel guilty for her face.

"Bones," he said. "Bones." He leaned over to blow childishly in her ear when he realized she was sound asleep. His sudden churlishness over her immature behavior evaporated. Sighing, he exited his side and slung both of the bags over his broad shoulders. Opening her door, he carefully maneuvered her out of the car into his arms. Grunting, he kicked the door shut as she nuzzled her head against his bicep drowsily.

The doorman opened the door and grinned at Booth as he helped push the elevator buttons. Luckily, Brennan's face was turned so that her black eye was hidden from view.

Getting into her apartment was a little more tricky as her keys were in one of the bags slung over his shoulder, but he managed to turn the key with a little jostling. Right as he reached for the handle, the door yanked itself open and Booth, startled, dropped the keys clenched between his teeth. He blinked.

"Max."


	8. Can't Con The Con Man

**Chapter 8: Can't Con The Con Man**

"Booth!" exclaimed Max Keenan, immediately noticing the unconscious Temperance Brennan in his arms. "What happened to her? Is she all right?"

"She's asleep," Booth stage whispered, so that Max would get the idea. Max, while not whispering, did modulate his voice to an appropriate level.

"Well, here set her down on the couch. That's it. I'll get a blank- holy shit! What happened to her face?" Brennan sleepily grumbled and the two men froze, silent. She simply turned her face towards the cushions of the couch and lay still again.

"I hit her with a bat," spat Booth through gritted teeth, ready to hear the accusatory tone again.

"Not on purpose," shrugged Max confidently. Booth looked up in shock.

"You're the first person to assume it was an accident."

"Oh, come on," said Max, his car salesman smile lighting his face, "You serious? I know you would never hurt Tempe on purpose."

"Thank you," said Booth, clinging to the little shred of dignity Max was offering him.

"You'd never hurt the woman you love," continued Max blithely. Booth froze, blanket clutched between suddenly rigid fingers.

"What?" he asked carefully. Ignoring him, Max took the blanket from his grasp and gently covered his sleeping daughter.

"Temperance," said Max impatiently, "I said you'd never hurt the woman you-"

"I heard what you said," responded Booth automatically. "But…I didn't…" he fumbled for the words.

"You didn't know that I knew?" Booth blinked, not even sure how to respond or defend himself. All of a sudden that scrap of dignity was the only thing covering his very bare soul; he was most sincerely naked, in a way he had never been in front of the others in Brennan's apartment.

"I asked you once if you were sleeping with my daughter," shrugged Max. "You said no."

"I wasn't," ground out Booth through clenched teeth, his arms folded across his chest, hugging himself together, unconsciously mirroring Brennan's favorite posture.

"But you are now?" Booth turned his glare at the floor and didn't respond. "Good man!" crowed Max. Booth blinked, disoriented.

"Good- wait, what? Why?"

"You're a good man," approved Max. "Good for her. Strong. Steady. Yes that's a good word, steady. You won't leave her. Not for anything." Booth's eyes flicked to the couch where she slept, unwilling to look at Max. Uncannily Max said the very thing he was thinking aloud. "Not like I did." His voice was heavy, unhappy, laced with ancient pain, and ancient heartbreak. Booth didn't say anything; he couldn't refute it.

"Why…" he cleared his throat, "Why me? I mean, Bones, she- she could have anyone. I mean anyone. She's…she's beautiful." His voice dropped to a whisper. "She's the most beautiful woman I know, and believe me," he scoffed a laugh, "there are some very beautiful women that I work with."

"Don't I know it," smiled Max. He gestured Booth to a chair at the bar as he grabbed two beers and leaned against the counter after Booth opened the both of them with a bottle opener he kept on his car keys. "Handy," grunted Max. Booth leaned forward, both hands clutched around his bottle.

"I'm serious," he said, his voice dropping. "What if…what if…"

"You screw up?" guessed Max shrewdly. Booth was floored – he knew Max was good with people and charming, if in a semi-smarmy manner, - but this was beyond his skill.

"I thought the same thing with Tempe's mother. Christine…Ruth…she is, she _was_, the most beautiful woman."

"She was," nodded Booth, quietly sipping his beer.

"But she was slippery too. Smart; too smart sometimes. She was a lot like Russ; quick to get into trouble, but like Tempe, much too honest to get out of it." Booth huffed a smile into the mouth of his bottle and shook his head.

"I always pegged Bones to take after you. I mean she does in the looks department."

"I always thought her jaw was a little...strong for a woman…" Booth leveled a glare at him and interrupted him with a slashing motion of his hand.

"Bones is beautiful because she looks like nobody else. She's not such a…cookie cutter."

"Cookie cutter," chortled Max, "I like that. Yes, Tempe was always different. We knew she was exceptional from the very start. Beautiful and brilliant, that's my daughter. Only…"

"Only what?" asked Booth, clenching his hands hard around the bottle between them.

"Only…she was always alone. She never…found anyone. No friends. Hardly spoke and never really learned how. When we left, she was just starting to open up."

"She has a family now," said Booth, his voice very low, dangerous. His eyes tightened and he gave Max such a fiercely protective glower that many hardened felons had wilted under in the interrogation room. Max hardly spared him a glance. He leaned over the counter and clapped Booth on the shoulder.

"You're good for her. Down to earth, salt of the sea kind of deal."

"What?"

"You…ground her."

"Bones is pretty grounded. I could say a lot of things, but she's never been the flighty type."

"Not like that," waved Max impatiently. "She's afraid."

"What?" Booth was floored. "Bones isn't afraid of anything."

"Look here kid, that's where you're wrong. I know my daughter. She's afraid of everything." Booth wiped a hand over his jaw, not sure if he wanted to disagree with a man like Max Keenan.

"No offense Max, but I know your daughter too. And Bones isn't afraid of anything. She's faced down genocide, murderers, serial killers, fanatics, gangsters, mobsters…anything you can think of, she just goes in guns blazing." Max laughed quietly but stopped abruptly, leaving an arctic chill hanging between them that sucked the breath right out of Booth's chest. He dangled, suspended in blue eyes that he was so used to in a different face, unwilling and unable to breathe.

"You don't understand Booth. It's not that she's not afraid of anything, but I'm afraid that she's afraid of the whole ball of wax." Booth opened his mouth to continue. "Not those things you just listed. Those are the easy things." Booth opened his mouth wider, outraged. "Yeah, yeah – I know you were a sniper. Horrors of war. Bet you had some Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?" His question was more of a statement answered by the pained, ashamed look that flashed across the upper half of Booth's face, dancing through his eyes and pricking across his brow. "Sure, Tempe can face down that opponent. It's logical; she can fight. She's a fighter my daughter."

"Me too," admitted Booth, but he leaned suddenly back at the finger thrust beneath his chin.

"No," said Max fiercely, "wrong again. You're the lover, not the fighter. You keep her grounded with your heart. You're a heart man Booth; a family man. Not like me. Temperance is so much like me; give her an enemy face to face, and she's as cool as glass. It's logical, reasonable, and it's a problem she can solve with control. But give her something she can't control, can't solve – say…love. Emotion. Family. Friendships. Things she cannot quantify, however much we both wanted to through our little science labs, well...they terrify her." Booth was quiet and Max leaned back, growing less tall and imposing in a matter of seconds. Booth felt like he had vaguely been both threatened and interrogated simultaneously. He was irked; Max was at least a good two inches shorter than Booth, yet he always still seemed the bigger man.

"So your saying…Bones is afraid of the world?" He was skeptical.

"Yes," exclaimed Max, "yes. The real world. The world," he gesticulated wildly in a circle about his head, "outside her lab. The world where people get hurt. Get rejected, even when they are perfect or damn near close. Where bad things happen to good people. She hates that. Her version of the world, the black and white version…my version, well, it's much simpler you see. Like the Holocaust. The Nazis were the bad guys right? But what if they killed a Jew that deserved it? Or if a gun was pointed at the Nazi's four year old daughter's head?" Booth rubbed his temples. The conversation was spinning wildly beyond his realm of depth and desired discussion.

"Max…" he began hesitantly. "Bones. I…we're just partners. Still partners."

"You mean," he read between the lines between what Booth was saying more quickly than Booth liked or was used to. He was accustomed to being on the advance, of being in control, of reading the situation. It was disconcerting to have the tables so turned, especially with, if he viewed the world for a moment through Bones' eyes, a felon questioning a cop. "You mean that you haven't told her how you feel. That she doesn't know."

"I don't know if she knows," admitted Booth shamefacedly. "I know she doesn't love me. I would _know_; I know her. I know that we're just friends."

"No offense kid, but you're a lot of things, and right now you're a lot of stupid."

"What!"

"My daughter…she has more than one layer. Who you know…who you _think_ you know is but a layer." Booth started to grin, shaking his head.

"I don't think so…"

"Okay, so you know a lot of the layers. Crossed a lot of the boundaries."

"What is that supposed to mean?" snapped Booth, perturbed.

"She let's you touch her. Her back, her arms, her hands; she doesn't flinch. Watch her. She flinches when Angela does it, or when that bug guy with the weird hair-"

"Hodgins."

"When he even approaches." Booth's mouth twisted sourly. He had to concede the point.

"Or that she will willingly go out to dinner or drinks with you. She doesn't even do that with me. Or that she will sleep at your place without a second thought without any sexual overtures."

"How do you know that?" demanded Booth.

"You think I'm going to let my daughter go unprotected and unchaperoned?"

"You've been _watching_ me?" Booth managed to strangle out. Brennan turned with a mumble on the couch; the two men winced and looked at each other.

"Relax Booth," dismissed Max, "I'm no peeping Tom." Booth glared daggers at him.

"There's nothing to see," he said while he gnashed his teeth.

"Not yet," smiled Max serenely, "but you're doin' great kid." Booth glowered into his beer and finished the last of it in a long draught.

There was a pause.

"Any advice?" Booth asked, almost wildly, running his fingers through his hair in sheer frustration at the situation.

"Be yourself; stick to the heart. You're almost there kid, you're almost there. Only a layer or so to go." Booth let out a long sigh he felt he had seemed to be holding since he woke from his coma.

"Congratulations on Russ' engagement," said Booth, searching for a tidbit out of the blue.

"Sure, sure," nodded Max, clapping his shoulder again. "You staying here?" Booth cleared his throat; he knew a dismissal when he heard one.

"No sir, just came to drop her off."

"Good man." Booth nodded and grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair. Max stopped him though, with a hand on his arm. He looked into his eyes and searched his face. Booth ceased any movement, holding perfectly still for Max's careful scrutiny. Whatever Max saw there, creased between the lines of Booth's serious dark eyes, he nodded once and said more sincerely, laying his hand on Booth's shoulder, above his heart. "Good man."

Booth nodded curtly once and turned the knob on the door, glancing one last time back at his partner on the couch.

"Don't forget, feed her plenty of Vitamin C. Her Vicadin is on the table. We've been icing her face and also soaking it with hot water and Epsom salt." Max nodded.

"Got it. I can ask Tempe when she wakes up. Oh wait," Booth turned quickly on his heel. "Can you move her to the bed?" Max glanced down but his face softened instantly. "On second thought, don't. She looks peaceful. I'll just turn down her bed for her."

"Where will you sleep?"

"She has a guest bed," Max assured him. "I'll watch her tonight. In the morning I'll let myself out and run and get her breakfast."

"She likes her eggs sunny side up, not scrambled. Also – I don't know if you knew, but she's a vegetarian now. No bacon."

"No bacon?" protested Max, "that's just inhumane."

"I believe," Booth said with a crooked smile, "that's what she'd say about bacon as well."

"Vegetarian. Got it."

"Also, the Vicadin makes her woozy."

"Her mother's side of the family," nodded Max sagely. Booth turned to go, but chuckling, couldn't resist turning around one more time. Max looked vaguely annoyed at his insistence, but patiently heard him out.

"Your wife…Christine…Ruth…did she have any phobias? Irrational fears, I mean?"

"Why do you ask?" frowned Max.

"It's just that…Bones…she's afraid of snakes. One crawled out of her tub's drain a couple days ago is all." Max's face grew both concerned and tender.

"The same thing happened when she was four," he confirmed, "bet she doesn't even remember. It terrified her; she refused to bathe for a week. She solved the problem by making Russell spray her down with the hose."

"So…no?" asked Booth. Max grinned.

"What? You're not afraid of anything?" Booth's eyes flashed briefly to the killer clown he had encountered in a fun house on a case. He swallowed and shrugged.

"A big tough guy like me? Nah."

"I hate clowns," confessed Max. Booth's jaw dropped. Max looked defensive, "What? They just creep me out."

"Yeah man, I feel you."

"Christine – she hated snakes too. Not spiders or anything, just snakes." Booth nodded once, his gut confirmed and feeling a little surer of himself and waved a hand.

"Take care of her," he instructed, needlessly, he reminded himself.

Max nodded. "Booth," he returned. And finally, finally, Booth was gone.

Max turned slowly in the living room to look at the stationary form of his daughter on the couch, sound asleep.

"Temperance. Wake up; I know you aren't asleep. Temperance. Drop this ridiculous charade; your mother and I didn't believe you when you were five, and I'm not going to start now. Tempe."

Slowly, the form on the couch rolled over and both eyes cracked open guiltily.

"Hi."


	9. Orange You Glad I Didn't Give You Away?

**Chapter 9: Orange You Glad I Didn't Give You Away?**

**A little more writer's block however it was a breeze to write this chapter. I've been floored by the reviews. Keep them coming; they're the highlight of my day every day of the week.**

Temperance Brennan breathed deeply, unsure of what to say.

"Does that hurt?" asked Max in concern, glancing at her forehead. She shook her head; the Vicadin was working, but she didn't feel woozy at all. Instead, she felt sharply awake, and seemed to perceive the world with an extra edge of clarity. She felt dizzy, but not because of the medicine, but rather a bizarre bubbling inside her chest.

_Giddy_, her mind supplied, but she sneezed in surprise at herself. She had hardly been giddy in her life. That wasn't her personality at all.

"Are you all right honey?" Max was watching her closely as she sat slowly up. "You look a little…lost."

"I…uh…" and to her consternation and mortification, her throat was thick and garbled with stuck tears. Max looked equally awkward. He moved forward as she drew away, but he simply lay his hand on her shoulder and sat next to her, moving his hand to her knee in as fatherly a manner as he knew how.

"It's a lot to take in," she smiled apologetically and as she did, a few tears spilled over onto her sharp cheekbones. She wasn't sure why she was crying; she wasn't unhappy – far from it in fact. Brennan wasn't altogether positive she wasn't going insane. This man, her partner, the one she stared at every day for the past five years of her life, had just confessed he was in love with her, when she knew for a fact it was the opposite. The way she regarded Booth - in his words - she had stared down death with him and stood over it countless times. She had gotten drunk with him – a concept she had never before dabbled in because she couldn't bear to relinquish control to whatever influences that would harm her. In high school and college, so many of her peers enjoyed drinking, but the one time Brennan had approached tipsy she reeled at the spinning world, and panicked at the poor judgments people were making around her. She had been scared and disoriented and had ended up walking home alone that night, however unsafe it may have been in retrospect.

But with Booth, she had never been afraid; not once. She would, and had, trust that man with her life. They had crossed so many lines, so many boundaries as her father had put it. She had let him into her home, even in the middle of the night and he came bearing Thai food as recompense. She had cared for him when he was injured and vice versa, they had kissed…once. She had seen him high over Christmas from a vaccine, and if she was honest enough to remember the incident without blushing, he had seen her high as well from an accidental inhalation. She had seen him naked. She had seen him in the hospital…twice. He had been blown up before her eyes on multiple occasions; he had been shot but so had she. Brennan swallowed. Whatever non-anthropological steps or lines Angela had devised when counseling relationships, Brennan was positive they had taken them all out of order and then added a few of their own.

Because deep down, if she was honest with herself, Brennan knew the final step that was never mentioned in any of Angela's rules: falling in love. But she and Booth had gone backwards through the rules. She had fallen in love with him long ago; she couldn't pinpoint the date, but she was veritably sure it had started when rescuing a baby and realizing she _enjoyed_ having a family in the car. Or perhaps it had been when Booth had refuted her claim and looked her in the eyes and told her what making love was. Or perhaps it _was_ the kiss under the mistletoe and he had brought her a Christmas tree for her family because he was veritably family anyway. Or maybe it was in the midst of some of the darkest years of her life: darker than even some of her adolescence. Perhaps he had snuck behind her borders between her father's trial, his own fake funeral, or in the wake of Zack's betrayal. Perhaps the first seed had been planted the day they had become friends as she sobbed brokenly into his neck, his own broken body shaking beneath her broken soul.

All she knew was that for sure, she had been in love with her partner, Special Agent Seeley Booth, for several years; probably a full blown love for two years or more. But as he had confessed into his beer bottle that he could tell she didn't love him, she could tell he didn't love her. At least not the way she loved him; so she had carefully wrapped her glass figurine of a heart and stowed it far, far away. She wrapped it in old rags of painful memories. She wrapped it in the darkest corners of her past and then put all of those places she never wanted to visit again into a box in the back of her mind. And put the box in a safe, inside a submarine, inside a titanium lead lined hull that escaped detection and sunk it. She sunk it so far and so darkly, that Booth couldn't possibly find it without rifling through all her ugly, sordid past. And partners, even friends, didn't visit those memories. Even Angela knew the line. Brennan wasn't even sure what had happened to Angela's mother, or who she even was.

But Booth had been methodically crossing those lines, unwrapping one ugly, tattered rag of a memory at a time. She was constantly trying to cover that shining glass heart with more pain; he had enough pain of his own, he would soon tire of hers. She suspected that Sweets knew; although she gave little credence to Psychology, she did have to admit he had a knack for profiling and understanding human emotions and responses that she completely lacked. When he had been upset after their case in the metal music scene at their discovery of his home life and the scars on his back, they had retrieved him for dinner with Dr. Gordon-Gordon. There she had shared something personal – not for Sweets she later realized - but to test Booth's resilience. However, the side effect she had not expected was Sweet's quick understanding of her vulnerability. For one, shining instant, she had held up an ugly piece of herself and that brilliant beacon of love she smothered so effectively had beamed out of her. Booth had looked at her and although she was sure he hadn't comprehended it consciously, she was sure, or she could pretend, that for that one shining instant, he loved her too.

Booth had also proved a surprise; he seemed to _enjoy_ listening seriously to her past. He _wanted_ all the pain she had buried her heart in, and she had been starting to panic. He knew her so well; there was no way he could miss such a bright love inside her welling from a broken hole she was always trying to hide. She was irritated her father could leave for half her life and pick up on her personality as if he had seen her every day for fifteen years. He had been correct; only a few more layers indeed. Shallow panting filled her ears and discomfited, she realized it was her own breath, coming too fast.

"Tempe," said her father, squeezing her leg. "Temperance." She turned scared eyes towards his seeking face. "You shouldn't feel pressured. Don't feel trapped by this. He'll survive; he's a strong man, Booth." She swallowed and tried to make sense of the nonsensical gibberish spewing from her father's mouth.

"But…what are you talking about?" He was infinitely patient.

"I mean, if you don't return Booth's-"

"I _love_ him Dad!" she snapped, frustrated and furious. Then she saw the gleam in his eye. "Can't we have a normal conversation," she shouted, but dragged her voice to the appropriate level, "without you playing the con man? Without _tricking_ me out of my head or confessions?" She stood up angrily and shoved pillows into his arms. "I don't want you here. I want Booth. Bring him back." She stalked angrily to her fridge, yanking it open and grabbing a beer for herself. "Oh yeah," she spat, "help yourself to the beer. And unlock my apartment why don't you?"

"Tempe, you're acting very out of character." Max sounded shocked. "You sound…you sound exactly like your mother. She always got that tone of voice when she was mad." Brennan's resolve wavered and she sighed as nostalgia sucker punched her in the abdomen.

"I remember," she half laughed, half angrily scoffed. She ran her fingers over her head, and folded her arms tightly across herself, feeling the glass heart inside filling brighter and brighter with light against her will. She instead grabbed her beer and put it to her lips.

"Are you still mad at me?" wheedled Max, standing and helping himself to another beer. Her angry icy blue glare met his own as he shrugged innocently with a charming smile, "You said help myself to your beer." She struggled to fight the smile tugging at her lips.

"I'm still mad," she twitched, her skin rippling over her bare shoulders. She felt suddenly drained and exhausted, although the inside of her still felt like something was growing inside of her; something with a life of its own, filling her empty hole she was always so scared was slowly consuming her. The stitches that had been made by Angela, Hodgins and Cam, even those ripped out by Zack, had still made little progress to her biggest wound. The one that was standing in front of her, and the twin of it that should have been standing next to him, barely turning sixty five and aging gracefully. Brennan swallowed, and was surprised to taste the thick, piercing taste of alcohol tickling down her throat. She reasoned that although one beer wouldn't hurt her, she should probably refrain considering she was also on narcotics.

"But not at Booth," guessed Max shrewdly.

"Why would I be mad at Booth?" she asked blankly. She didn't let the joyful voice leaping inside of her answer with her utter bliss she was threatening to float into. She couldn't let him know. Not yet. She had to tamp this ridiculous heart down; she needed her control back. Except somehow Booth had become tangled up in her control. When he was recovering from his coma she had left the country in order to escape him and gain some piece of mind and piece herself together, smother her almost broken glass heart. The light inside had become so close to being extinguished those long four days he didn't wake up. Instead, she had gone berserk without his constant companionship. She had been unbearably lonely and her work was intangible; she had been unable to focus. Brennan had been shocked. She had never lost focus before.

"You're not angry that he didn't tell you?" Max asked carefully watching her face. They assumed Booth and Max's previous positions at the bar, facing each other as her fingers twisted around the neck of the bottle startlingly similar to the way his had done.

"I guessed," she confessed guiltily, "but I then I…borrowed his brain scans from the hospital." Her voice darkened and grew close to breaking. His false love had been a driving force that had forced her to flee the country.

"What did they say?" asked Max curiously.

"It was a false positive," she shrugged, attempting nonchalance but succeeding only in anguish. "Somewhere in his coma, he tricked…_I _tricked him into thinking he was in love with me."

"_You_ did?" frowned Max.

"I…" her voice was a whisper as she ashamedly looked at her hands. Max got up to slice fruit. "I read him a book I was writing. In it, the characters I _loosely_," she emphasized the word, "based upon myself and my partner, they were married…expecting. They were…figments of my imagination," she ended, scoffing.

"Were they?" mumbled Max around a wedge of an orange; he smiled, the peel stuck between his teeth. Brennan giggled; he had achieved the desired effect. He chewed quickly and swallowed to pursue his point, forcing another sliced orange into her roving hands. She quickly began feeding on one to avoid speaking. "Or was this story just another layer in Tempe land?"

"Dad," she groaned, "could we just…_not_ talk about this?" There was a silence as he shrugged.

"Sure honey. But I knew." She stared at him, agape.

"What! How? When? When did you…" He just shrugged again.

"I thought we weren't talking about this. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Dad!" He sighed.

"Hugh Kennedy. When Booth was kidnapped by Gallagher and you attacked the Bounty Hunter…I knew." Brennan swallowed heavily.

"Oh." Her voice was very small, and very scared.

"Are you going to tell him?" She took a deep breath.

"Now we're done," she informed him. She finished the last of her orange and rinsed her hands in the sink.

"Booth was a lot more chatty than you," Max observed.

"Yeah, well," said Brennan mulishly, "that's probably because he's not related to you."

Max chuckled. "Yet," he muttered under his breath.

"Hmm?" asked Brennan, rinsing both their empty bottles and recycling them. She hadn't heard him over the sound of the sink running. He shrugged.

"I said 'night.' You look tired. You should sleep." She nodded and smiled a small, tight smile.

"Okay. Um…thanks."

"For what sweetheart?" Max turned ingenuously around as he was walking away.

"For…not giving me away to Booth from the beginning. You knew I was awake the moment I hit the couch."

"You made an awful lot of noise," criticized Max.

"You two were discussing topics that I felt weren't appropriate without me there or my consent."

"Ah, honey, if only you knew what I said where I know you couldn't hear me." Her round blue eyes flew to the size of saucers.

"What?" she asked quickly. He chuckled.

"Only joking, of course." Max smiled smugly, "Mostly," he muttered again to himself.

"What?" she asked distractedly, gathering the pillows on the couch and straightening it. Max shrugged.

"I talk to myself, old habit."

"Must have been a bad one," she murmured, "robbing banks and all."

"Touché. Good night."

"Night Dad." Their consecutive doors closed simultaneously with a crash.

Alone in her bed, Temperance Brennan closed her eyes and her very favorite part of every day began. She breathed deeply and he was suddenly there next to her; here, in her world where the lab was both her world and beyond her world, he loved her for real. And tonight, she fell asleep in his arms, the fictional ones not quite sufficing and twinging her heartstrings now that she knew what the real ones felt like.


	10. Donuts and Daffodils

**Chapter 10: Donuts and Daffodils**

**Fun fact: the bickering conversation of head size was in an interview between David Boreanaz and Emily Deschanel. They did actually argue about it. They even measured. It was as follows.**

Brennan woke slowly Sunday morning to the buzz of her phone on the nightstand. She squinted at the numbers: 9:23 am. A respectable time to get up. She sat up and sleepily answered.

"Booth?"

"Bones! Hey, I was wondering," his voice trailed off as he cursed in the background. Brennan knew it was because he was driving and using both hands to direct his car through the weaving DC streets. "Was wondering," he was back, breathless, "if I could pick you up in about an hour. Maybe go out for ice cream or something?"

"Ice cream at 10:30?" she laughed.

"Okay, we can go to the park. Or take a walk. Or…" he trailed off again and she heard a honking screech.

"Where _are_ you Booth?" she smiled into the phone.

"I'm on Wisconsin Avenue, Northwest."

"That's pretty far," she frowned. "What are you doing out there?"

"It's a surprise," he said cheerily, but she could pick up a little tension in his tone.

"Booth," she warned, "I hate surprises."

"If that's Booth, tell him to stop by for breakfast," said Max, popping his head in and giving Brennan such a start, her hand flew out in front of her as if to push him away from the bed.

"Dad," she said, covering the receiver end of her cell with her hand, "you _scared_ me."

"Sorry sweetheart. I picked up some donuts for breakfast. Why don't you come in the kitchen. Ask Booth."

"Booth?" she queried into the phone.

"Nah, I'm okay. I might grab one when I come to get you."

"You're coming up?" she said in surprise.

"Is that a problem?" his voice was also surprised.

"No," she said hastily, "but you always just wait for me to come down."

"Well Bones," he said, and she could tell he was grinning his smug little grin from miles away. Her fingers itched to slap it off; her lips did too. "Your father is there. That's really no way to treat a lady." Brennan blushed; she had almost forgotten her overhead conversation the night before. She tried not to let it leach into her voice.

"Yeah, come up. I'll save you a donut. Booth I gotta go." But before she hung up he managed to bellow,

"With sprinkles!" and squeaked it into the last possible second before her thumb finished touching the end call button. She smiled foolishly at the phone.

Swinging her legs out of bed, she stood up. She frowned when her body screamed in protest and she stumbled forwards holding onto the door handle and gingerly pulling it toward her. Still confused, she managed to walk stiffly, if normally, to the table. In her head, her logical, rational voice was telling her to keep moving around and that the restricted blood flow would soon sweep away the oversupply of lactic acid build up that was eating at her nerves causing her to be sore.

"You all right there honey? You're looking a bit…creaky." She smiled and Max proffered her a white box full of donuts of every kind. "I didn't know what you liked so I got all-" he cut off as she selected the bear claw and sunk her teeth gratefully into the sugary cinnamon. "That was mine," he pouted.

"I remember," she said, licking one of her fingers daintily, while catching crumbs with her cupped palm. "You always used to let me split it with you during Sunday morning cartoons." Max's face split into a wide grin.

"Yes, yes, that's right. But your mother liked the jelly filled kind."

"Bleh." Brennan made a face. "It's not _real_ jelly, it always tasted much too artificial for my taste." They shared a grin as Max selected another donut while Brennan carefully cut her bear claw in half with a butter knife.

"Oh! Look what I got at the store," said Max after a minute of companionable silence. "Next to the donut shop there was a pharmacy, and I know that you don't like taking heavy narcotics, especially not at work, so I thought you could use these." He pulled a bottle of Aleve out of a white paper bag.

"I prefer Motrin," frowned Brennan, "it has more Ibuprofen in it."

"Your mother always insisted that these work better," pushed Max, unscrewing the lid and handing her a glass of orange juice and two pills.

"I am a little sore," admitted Brennan.

"Booth hit you that hard?" winced Max. Brennan blinked; she had forgotten about her face.

"My face doesn't hurt," she responded automatically, "just the rest of me."

"Well what did you do?" frowned Max. "I mean, yesterday?"

"Nothing!" exclaimed Brennan, swallowing her pills and taking a few sips of orange juice. "I just slept all day. And Friday I worked and went to Parker's tball game and Thursday I…oh." Brennan blushed scarlet. She should have expected this, really. It had been an awfully long time since her last relationship. But in the wake of the hospital and being so heavily dosed on narcotics, she assumed she had been unable to feel the effects. But more things were falling into place: the wobbly legs, the pain in her stomach, the stumbling around… She glanced into her orange juice cup in horror; she was mortified, and being with her father was only making it worse.

"What else did you pick up?" she asked, clearing her throat.

"Icy Hot, for your black eye. It'll work, I promise. Russ used to get in fights all the time."

"He did?" Brennan asked in shock, momentarily distracted. Inwardly she was eyeing the Icy Hot with renewed fervor. "I always thought Russ was really…tough."

"He toughened up in high school, but he was always looking out for you in middle and elementary school." Brennan blinked at him.

"Oh." She couldn't think of anything else to say. He reached into the bag again.

"Here honey, I figured you'd have to leave the house eventually. So I picked this up in the pharmacy. Be grateful, I got a very strange look from the clerk." She took the little plastic jar from his hand and looked at it. It was a mixture of cream and cover up.

"Natural ingredients," he smiled, "Booth tells me you're a vegetarian now." She nodded the affirmative.

She looked down at it shyly. "Thanks Dad," she said quietly. When she looked up and he was watching her with her own blue eyes. _They were his first_, she reasoned with herself. She didn't have to be Booth to know that the both of their thoughts dwelled on the previous nights conversations.

"Really," she put a hand on his arm. "Thanks." He rolled his eyes and waved a hand airily.

"Bah." He stood up. "Go on, get dressed, Booth will be here soon." She swallowed, nodded, and skipped…or minced…back to her bedroom and closed the door, for the first time wondering what to wear.

She flinched when she heard the knock on the front door; she was putting on the final touches of mascara, not bothering with eyeliner as usual. Her face was much less puffy than the first two days, and it was almost normal looking. The cream that Max had brought was perfect; it went on smoothly and left her skin still the same color. She was so pale, it was often hard to find makeup shades her skin tone without tinting herself slightly orange.

She looked at herself critically in the mirror; she looked…normal. Like it was any other day in the lab. She wore jeans and her tall black riding boots with a nice snug jacket and her hair in a loose bun. She blinked twice and opened her bedroom door. Booth was standing right in the threshold, one hand poised to knock, the other clutching a bouquet of flowers.

"Booth!"

"Careful there Bones, wow, your face looks great!" He seemed sincere and she half smiled, half gestured.

"Dad brought me some makeup that really helped hide it. Are those for me?" She was direct, as usual.

"Sort of," he smiled crookedly. She glimpsed the label.

"Johnson's flowers?" she asked in disbelief, "those are my favorite because they carry-"

"Daffodils," finished Booth. He lowered the plastic wrapping, showing the inside to her; the buttery yellow flowers beamed at Brennan's beaming face.

"Thanks Booth…what do you mean, not for me exactly?" He looked evasive.

"You'll see."

"Booth, where are we going?" She followed him into the den and saw her father's hand resting on a similar bouquet on the table.

"Thanks Booth," he nodded.

"Max," nodded Booth curtly. He put his hand on the lower of Brennan's back. "Grab your keys Bones," crowed Booth, "we're going for a drive." She quickly gathered what she needed, also grabbing the little jar in case her black eye started to shine through again. Her heart was full and shining, burning away at the darkness in the back of her mind. She swallowed it, forcing it down…for now. However, like a little helium balloon, it kept rising. Booth's fingers burned through her jacket and she smiled winningly as he opened the car door for her and guided her by the elbow into her seat. He strapped himself in.

"Moving a little slow there Bones," he teased once he got in the flow of traffic. "What, did you forget your morning coffee?" He nodded toward the cup holder with a wink. Coffee waited for her; her favorite kind. "Figures." Smiling, she raised the cup to her lips in synchronization with his.

"Just a little sore," she said, blithely sipping her coffee. He swallowed his hastily.

"Does your head hurt?"

"Not…not my head." She shifted a little in her seat to make her point and had the satisfaction of watching his face burn red. Her satisfaction slid away as guilt flooded his features.

"Bones…Brennan. Oh God, I'm so sorry. I should have gone softer, gentler I…"

"Booth," smiled Brennan, "Don't worry about it." He glanced over at her, his face startled. She shrugged.

"It's a nice kind of sore," she said bashfully. His own face cracked into his little boy's smile.

"Yeah?" She blushed a little more and nodded.

"Yeah. Great kind." He chuckled and looked out the windshield.

"You really know how to stoke a guy's ego Brennan."

"Don't go getting a big head," she accused.

"_My_ head? _My _head? Bones, our heads are like…the same size."

"What! No way Booth. No way. Yours is just humongous."

"Humongous? You call my head humongous? You know what? Let's measure. Check the console. There's a measuring tape."

"Seriously? Why do you even _have_ a measuring tape in your car?" she griped, digging through at least 20 pieces of paper and four of her lip glosses.

"And you can take some of those out," he criticized, seeing the growing pile on her lap.

"I need them," she sniped defensively.

"All of them?" he grouched.

"They're different colors," she protested.

"They are all pink."

"_No_, this one, see? This one is mauve. And this one is coral. Clearly different."

"They're both pink Bones. They may be light and dark, but they go on _clear_."

"They work with your skin tone!" she argued. "Found it." She pulled out a measuring tape and began piling the crap in her lap back into the console.

"Measure your head."

"Why mine first?"

"I'm driving!"

"Fine," she smoldered, and wrapped the measuring tape around her head.

"Make sure it's around the fat part," instructed Booth. Brennan frowned.

"You think my head is fat?"

"That's not what I said Bones, I mean you could cheat. Make it look like mine is bigger than yours."

"Yours _is_ bigger than mine. Your head is huge."

"How do you know?" he challenged, "we're not done collecting the data." Her nose wrinkled.

"Did you just try to out science me?" He laughed.

"Fine. I've got mine."

"How big is it?" She looked insulted.

"I'm not telling you." He grimaced.

"Fine. Give me the tape."

"No! You're driving. I'll do it."

"We're at a stoplight. Give it-" he reached over and tried to wrestle it from her.

"The light Booth! The light is green!" Sighing in frustration he slammed the pedal down.

"Don't get it in my eyes," he growled as she leaned over and wrapped it around his head. He heard her gasp and the tape slipped into his line of vision. Instinctively he reached up to pull it away but she swatted his hands away.

"Bones! I told you, I can't see, I can't…"

"Did you just hit me?" she frowned.

"What? I swatted you. A swat, what is taking so long?" She measured again and then sank bank into her seat, her lips twitching stubbornly.

"I don't believe it," she said, trying to pout, but Booth could hear her laughter bubbling under the surface.

"What?" he was scared. "Is something wrong with me or something?"

"They're the same size."

"_What?_" She nodded the affirmative.

"Yep. To the centimeter. I don't believe it." Booth scoffed.

"Obviously you measured wrong."

"I did not! I'm a scientist! I went through a lot of school and I think I could measure correctly." They sat in silence for a minute until she glanced out of the corner of her eye at him. He was glancing at her.

"Did it just strike you," she said, "that we're arguing over head size?"

"Yeah, and that you measured?" laughed Booth.

"_I _measured! You're the one who told me to get the tape out of your console." They laughed until Brennan stopped abruptly as they made a turn into a parking lot.

"Booth where are- why are we here?" He parked the car quietly but left it idling, staring intently at her. Their bickering vanished in a heartbeat.

"I thought," he cleared his throat, "I figured you wouldn't want to come alone."

"This is what the daffodils are for," she whispered, her throat suddenly tight. She looked up at his mahogany eyes, her own a little brighter than usual. "Thanks Booth…you're right. I wouldn't have come alone." He held the door for her and stepped out.

"You're gonna be okay," he whispered into her hair and for a moment she shivered before glancing into his eyes. She stared at him every day, but today, she could put a name to that mysterious quality that was always flickering across his face when he stared at her, and only her.

It was love.

And it was for her.

She clutched the flowers while they both walked in silence past the big stone sign proclaiming _Arbor Hills Cemetery._ And he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her to him.


	11. Just Remember Me

**Chapter 11: Just Remember Me**

**Enjoy. This was so satisfying, and almost sad.**

They walked in silence for a while, Brennan savoring his warm arm over her shoulders. Booth, in turn, kept glancing at her calm, unruffled pristine white face. She was staring thoughtfully at the ground, not in anger but with a quality he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He remembered the last time he was walking through a cemetery with her; he had begged her to visit his grave should he die. He smiled and she immediately looked up.

"What?"

"I was just remembering our last conversation here. You agreed-"

"-to visit your grave," she finished with a little smile of her own. Her face, while clear and untroubled didn't match her faraway eyes.

"What were you thinking about?" he frowned. She looked around slowly.

"Ripley," she confessed, "the dog-"

"I remember Bones." His voice was deep, understanding. He also remembered her speech, her eulogy, over the grave as he held her while she sobbed, shovel in hand. His eyes tightened, "I'm sorry, Brennan, really."

She smiled at the ground and bumped her hip into his.

"S'Okay," she said. He staggered.

"Easy there Bones," he chuckled, "watch the donuts."

"Uh! Booth!" she scowled furiously but he could tell she was laughing. He took the opportunity to poke her in the ribs and she squealed, the daffodils waving furiously as she tried to bat him away.

He grabbed her from behind and pinning her arms behind her back he swooped his mouth down to her delicious, savory neck. He froze, millimeters away and grinned, his hot breath spreading into an elongated smile along her skin as she shivered. He cold see the goose bumps.

"What are you doing Booth?" Brennan had been going for irritated and patronizing, but it came out breathy and excited. She shook a little as he took a step closer, their bodies aligning and his mouth hovered a breath away from her skin.

Laughing against her neck, he blew a giant raspberry into her skin and let her go, bounding away.

"BOOTH!" she shrieked and chased after him, running. They darted through the gravestones, neither finding it a bizarre playground. She caught him around the middle and managed to whack him in the face with flowers. They laughed and he twisted around, backing her slowly against a grave until her knees hit the back. Possessively taking her hips in his he went in smiling for the kiss, but she turned her head in a panic, his lips stopping a hair from her proffered cheek.

"Sorry," she whispered, their playfulness evaporating, "Sorry. I just…are you sure Booth? Because I don't want to start this if you aren't sure, I know we already have gone much further than this, but it doesn't seem that different between us and although I can compartmentalize, you-"

He covered her mouth with her own hand and gently kissed her, her hand between their lips.

"I only kissed your hand," he grinned cheekily when he pulled away. Her pupils were widely dilated, the black eating the blue with lust. She staggered a bit.

"Sore, huh?" he laughed evilly. She blushed and he put his hand back on the small of her back and guided her just a few stones down to her mother's headstone beneath a wide branching tree.

"You are rather devious," she accredited him with a private smile.

"Yeah, what does that mean?" Booth wrinkled his nose. "What, like…a bank robber? A cowboy?"

"Cowboy!" laughed Brennan. He tipped his head in his imaginary hat.

"Am I testing your limits ma'am?" They stopped a few feet from her mother's grave, just toeing the line of serious a step away. She looked up at him, blissfully letting her love in her scratched glass heart beam from her smile, for once not hiding it away.

"Every day, Booth. You test them every day." He grinned his perfect little boy grin, and she couldn't help but grin back, her whole face flooded with love for him, feeling it even on the grass curling around her boots. His smile slowly faded as awe replaced it and his brown eyes, instead of just staring into hers, began flicking over her face as if reading a book. A bit panicked, she swallowed and pulled in some of her control. The light dimmed from her features, and she heaved a sigh of relief and let her own gaze focus on a point over his shoulder. He looked behind him and sighed as well.

Together, they both stepped over the imaginary line that marked that plot of grass as Christine Brennan. Their faces, while not smiling, each held a quiet joy. Brennan looked down at her grave and gently put the flowers down. She looked cursorily back at Booth.

"Do you want me to wait over there?"

"No," she said a little too quickly, and his face softened.

"I know you hate this," he said under his breath.

"Why are you whispering," she said impassively, "she can't hear you. She's dead."

"Bones," groaned Booth, "It's out of respect for the dead." He hurriedly crossed himself.

"She. Has. No. Auditory. Capacity. I should know, I found the body," she shrugged dismissively. Booth dragged her a step back from standing over her mother's feet.

"Shh, just….quietly. Bones…just, talk to her. It was her birthday."

"How many times do you go out to your mother's grave?" sniped Brennan, but she felt a deep flood of shame when she saw the look on his face. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "that was uncalled for." He forced a brazen smile.

"Pssht, you underestimate me Bones. Come on. Just…talk to her."

"What do I say?" He lowered his voice to better modulate hers.

"Anything you want. She's _your _mother. Tell her about Russ. Tell her about your dad. About donuts. Deep dark secrets," he smiled smugly, but he sobered up as his eyes tightened and she felt her heart stop and her lungs run out of air. "Just…remember her. Is that too much to ask?" Brennan swallowed. _Yes_, she wanted to say. But she simply bit her lip and cocked her head to the side the way she did when examining a fresh set of remains.

"Um…Mom. I don't think you can hear me. I don't think…actually I think this is stupid. Booth, this is stupid. I feel stupid. What am I supposed to say?" she asked desperately. "Could you show me?" Booth blinked.

"Pardon?"

"Just…do what I have to do. Say something. Some weird thing about your life or secrets or something so I can learn." He cleared his throat.

"Fine, but you have to wait over there, out of earshot."

"Booth!" she exclaimed, "that would be completely counter-productive because then I couldn't tell what I needed to do. I'm asking you to teach me." Booth smothered his sigh in his hand wiping over his jaw.

"Brennan, this isn't something you teach. This isn't something you learn. You just…speak from the heart." Her ice blue eyes bored into his, supplicating, pleading. He hated to see her beg.

"Please Booth," she begged. He took a deep breath and crossed his hands in front of him, spreading his feet at shoulder width angled to face the headstone, across from Brennan. She immediately mimicked his position. Irked, he looked up.

"Bones, you don't have to stand like this. Stand however you like." She shrugged and shook it off, standing with her arms tightly over the hole that was ripping through her chest. Booth didn't know it, couldn't see it, but it was killing her to stand there. She needed him.

He cleared his throat, and looked awkward. He opened his mouth, shut it, and finally opened it again.

"Mrs. Brennan…Uh, Christine…Ruth…To you – to…I mean," he stumbled over the beginning, acutely aware of Bones' eyes on his face. He took a breath and started over. "Mrs. Brennan, although I never knew you-"

"She would have liked you," interrupted Brennan. He glared at her.

"Thanks for your vote of confidence Bones, but when you talk to the dead, it's an unspoken rule that you don't interrupt their confession or "talk.""

"Well I didn't know that rule!" she said defensively, "See? I'm learning."

"Unspoken rule, _unspoken_, as in I shouldn't have to tell you." She looked dourly at him, but when he was sure she wasn't going to interrupt again, he resumed.

"Although I never knew you, I've gotten to know your daughter very well." Bones froze, thoughts of interrupting just to tease him gone; his sincerity rang clearly and lowly in the clearing. "Temperance," he smiled at the ground; he seemed to have forgotten she was there. In Booth's world, he was calm again. Talking to the dead was a comfort; they didn't talk back, and they always listened. He let himself go, and flow into the talk. "Temperance is a beautiful woman. Not just as you knew her, but…she's grown up since you've seen her. Changed. I just wanted you to know that, although I know you probably do already. I want you to know so you can be proud of the woman she's become. Because," his eyes softened to a place far away as Brennan watched, a smiles spreading sweetly over his face. "Because I sure am, I'm so proud of her. I have no right, no claim to her, but she's a fine woman. A beautiful woman, a magnificent one. Smart, funny, ingenuous, ingenious," he chuckled on the word play as Brennan's throat was closing. "She makes a hell of a scientist. Excuse me, I meant she's very competent at her job. The best, actually. The best of the best of the best. And," Booth's voice almost hitched, "the best partner a guy could ask for. Anyone could ask for. And I don't know her half as well as I'd like. I could spend the rest of my life learning to lo-" Booth quickly rearranged his words, "the rest of my life learning her inside and out. She's an incredible woman, your daughter. Great company, a little irritating, she can grate on your nerves," there was a choked laugh from Brennan, whose eyes were overflowing. "But lately…" Booth's voice became hoarse, and his hands unclasped in front of him, and although he was still in his own world, his own eulogy, he was hyperaware of the woman across from him.

"But lately Mrs. Brennan, I…I've been struggling." Brennan's muffled sniffing stopped suddenly. "Struggling with a problem that's been with me…as long as I've been awake from my coma. And I'm not sure, but I think I even went into the surgery with it weighing on my soul. But it grows heavier every day." Brennan's fingers snaked around his wrist, squeezing, unsure of where he was going, but touched by the veracity, sincerity, and the emotion he was giving his speech. It would have been easy to make something worthless up; but Seeley Booth never left anything half done, or went at anything half-heartedly.

Brennan chose that moment to interject.

"Mom," she said, and the word tasted alien and sweet and salty sad, "Mom, I'm not sure what to say, but…" she laughed weakly, "Trivial gossip is Russ is getting married. And…" her voice grew thicker, deeper, "and Dad stopped by today. But really…mostly what Booth said but…but…" she breathed deeply. "I'm sorry," she said with composure to the headstone, but the tears slipped over her cheeks regardless. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I forgot you. I lost you and so I shut you out, and I…forgot. But this man," she wrapped her hand tighter around his arm, as if her mother could see them standing together, "this man," she laughed brokenly, "this man is incredible. He thinks I'm the best partner, but…he's wrong. I wouldn't be anywhere near where I was without him. I wouldn't have written my first book," she blushed slightly, "or gone into the field, or found a profession that while at first I resented for seeming insignificant after the pursuit of anthropology seemed narrow, now is my life." She took a deep breath and looked timidly at him, "Sorry…sorry for interrupting. You had a confession?" His eyes burned into hers as they stood across the grave from each other, but he addressed her mother.

"Mrs. Brennan…I have to confess that…this weight…I can't decide whether I just want to shoot up the world in frustration or…or just float away because the truth is I'm in love with your daughter. I…I am. I'm in love with you Bones. Brennan?"

She couldn't hear him anymore. She had known it, but for him to confess the words to her, they rang in her ears like the stars had all fallen from the sky in a grand cacophony of bells.

**The truth is I'm in love with your daughter. In love. In love with you. The Truth. Bones. Love.**

"I…" she stuttered, locked in his gaze. She tore it away and looked at the engraved epitaph on her mother's grave. "Mom…I…I love him," she sobbed happily. "I've known it for years Mom," she was crying now, shaking now. Booth was now the one stunned, afraid to move, to breathe, to stumble forward.

"And I knew," she laughed through her tears, still boring her gaze into the yellow daffodils. "I knew because he told Dad last night, and I heard him. But still I…I had guessed. I know him; I love him. But he didn't really, doesn't really….I don't know what's real, what's….I…" she flew into his arms like a bird being set free from a dark cage of ugly memories, of a sordid past, of empty promises and rags and his arms hugged her so tightly, she felt herself coming apart.

They sank to the ground together, both on their knees, the only unquiet thing on a quiet grave in a peaceful cemetery.


	12. Day One

**Chapter 12: Day One**

**I was awed and touched by the reviews. Thank you so much. You guys make my days brighter. This should be some chocolate coating for that bittersweet last chapter.**

Brennan didn't know how long they stayed, an unusual tangle of limbs so reminiscent of the beginning of this weekend. _Such a long weekend_, she thought, dazed. But as her crying subsided and Booth's arms loosened she felt weak. The grass was cool beneath her palms and sighing she lay back on the ground, closing her eyes and feeling the stalks tickle her cheeks.

"Bones, you shouldn't…" he winced. He lay perpendicular to her and lifted her head with his hands. "Here. Lay on my stomach so you don't have to lay on her grave."

"_You're_ laying on her grave," she pointed out, one perfect eyebrow arching over an ice blue eye.

"Nah," he scoffed a laugh, and craned his neck up at her as she grinned, feeling his breath puff beneath her neck as his stomach moved up and down. "Most of me is off her."

"She wouldn't mind," Brennan said softly.

"You sure about that?" Brennan nodded and Booth could feel her bun riding his shirt up and down, letting a few stray hairs brush his bare stomach. He stifled a smile and smothered a groan. She could still feel it though and chuckled under her breath, making sure to "stretch" her shoulders into his hips.

"Bones, you're doing that on purpose." He snapped, panic tainting his voice. If she didn't stop soon, she was going to have a very friendly neighbor to the left of her cheek.

They both lay quiet.

"I can feel you breathing," she smiled.

"Yeah?" grinned Booth, "didn't you play this game as a kid?"

"No," she answered truthfully. "I didn't have many friends."

"Oh, that's right. Max mentioned that."

"I'm aware," she muttered darkly. He immediately turned indignant.

"_You're_ aware?" he all but shouted, "you listened to my soul wrenching confession as your father grilled me-"

"He didn't _grill_ you Booth, I was there."

"Well it sure felt like it," he grumbled. "But you turn out to be _awake!_" He was silent, and when he spoke again his voice was hesitant, as if he were walking on glass sheeting.

"You knew?" he asked guiltily. "You knew that…that I loved you?"

"I knew you think you love me," she admitted, her voice so soft he hardly caught it, but he could feel her words rumbling from her jaw bone directly into his hips.

"I do love you." His voice was honest and darkly flavored with hurt and sincerity, a bittersweet chocolate combination that was threatening to melt her defenses.

"Booth," she sighed, and rolled her face to one side to face his chest and somewhere behind his pectorals, his head. "You think so. I saw the scans-"

"So did I." She blinked.

"You did?"

"Sweets showed me. He told me it wasn't permanent and that the symptoms would fade. I wasn't sure if I believed him, but I waited...When they didn't, I asked Cam's advice-"

"You told Cam?"

"She guessed," he confessed guiltily. "She knows me too well and has for too long. And frankly Brennan…I think everyone knows."

"Angela," muttered Brennan darkly, "for years now. She almost thought of going for you in the beginning." Booth reared up on his elbows and looked down at her head on his abdomen.

"Really?" Brennan nodded the affirmative. His face broke into a slow smile but it faded into genuine affection. "But after we first met…even on our first case…I knew it would only be you I would sleep with if I could pick anyone in the lab."

"Half of them are male," scoffed Brennan. "Hardly a choice." His eyes still bored into hers unrelenting, until she was almost shaking. He could feel it too. "Are you scared?" he asked softly. She looked into his eyes. _Yes_, her heart whispered.

"No," said her mouth confidently. His own eyes crinkled into a smile as his mouth twisted.

"Liar," he accused before laying back down. She felt and heard him huff a laugh and they were silent for a while again, staring at the overlapping branches of the trees.

"This is…nice," said Brennan eventually, surprised at herself. "I hate graveyards. I hate funerals. I hate death."

"Funny, since you work so closely with it every day."

"I work closely with you every day," she countered. His brow puckered.

"What does that have to do with anything?" She blushed and shook her head.

"Nothing." He pressed and nagged her until she shrugged and relented. "Fine. I feel like that you're the most _alive_ person I've ever met. That you relish life the most. And I admire the quality is all. That you're the farthest thing from death to work with." They were silent as Booth's hand idly reached up to stroke her hair once or twice before he tired of it. He suddenly chuckled.

"What?" she said indignantly, embarrassed he was laughing at her heartfelt confession.

"Not you Bones, just that….Fisher seems like the kind of guy closest to death to work with every day." She laughed too.

"Well…not every day." They were silent once more, and they could feel the big questions looming over them.

"Booth?" she said, her voice soft and almost pleading.

"Brennan." The way he said her name had her closing her eyes and swallowing heavily, headily, like drinking a beautiful vintage of a classic wine.

"I don't…I don't know if you really love me. Or if I convinced you…somehow in the fever dream or if…"

"Bones," he interrupted. She stopped and blinked at the sky, the tears so silently running in twin tributaries down her temples out of the corners of her eyes.

"What?"

"I've been in love with you since day one."

"What?" her voice warbled a little with emotion.

"Yep," he nodded, pressing his lips together and regarding a far off cloud with a little too much interest. "Day one. When we met in the classroom. I fell for you and did you wrong. I fell for you again on the Cleo Eller case."

"We didn't get along though," she said with a frown. "You were dating that lawyer…"

"Tessa."

"Yes. Tessa. And we weren't friends. You became angry when my lab took over Wong Fu's. You were mean to Zack. You didn't like Hodgins."

"Yeah well," laughed Booth, "this is before I knew that loving a squint comes with loving the squint squad. I was doing fine on my own as an FBI agent. But when I came to work conjointly with you….well I felt like all of you were taking over my life. And then you did. They all moved right into Camp Booth without so much as a by your leave. They never left. As for getting along…" He rubbed a hand behind his neck, feeling the cool grass tickle him. "Well, you were intimidating as hell Bones, and just about as annoying."

"Hey!"

"You've gotten better, but I wasn't used to the way you ask questions about everything-"

"I'm curious. I'm an anthropologist."

"Yes but I didn't know what that meant. Sometimes I still don't know what that means."

"Most of the time when you reference something, I don't know what that means," she smiled. "So I think we're even." She was glowing inside. _Day One_.

"So when did you fall for my rakish charm and dashing good looks? Or do you want me for my body?" Booth's smarmy fake announcer voice had Brennan in giggles; she was glad that finally admitting her secret hadn't changed anything between them, at least not anything for the worse. She ran through all the possible scenarios in her mind. Booth already was completely overprotective of her, he already bickered with her, they both had keys to each other's places, both had slept over, both had learned each other's past, both had done many things…

"Huh?" asked Brennan absently.

"I said when did you fall for me?" His voice was light and teasing, but she could feel the sudden tension in his body, his bated breath.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I don't think it was all at once, but bit by bit, day by day. I think I fall in love with you a little more every day." She blushed, so uncomfortable with this blatant candidness between them. _We don't have secrets_, she told herself; except for this one that had hung between them so long.

"I have to tell you," squirmed Booth, "when we shared one bed in Vegas…I almost died. Those nights were torture. You were so, so close." She blushed herself.

"I remember. I thought you were asleep!"

"I was asleep?" laughed Booth incredulously.

"Most of the time I played crap."

"Craps Bones, plural."

"I couldn't stay in the same room with you asleep; it was driving me crazy!" They both laughed quietly.

"So many missed opportunities," lamented Booth.

"Don't say that," said Bones very quietly. He froze, unsure and she could feel the tension in her own neck. She wriggled against him, upset.

"Why not?" he asked cautiously.

"I feel like…see Angela has all these rules. Anthropologically they are completely flagrant of any-"

"Get to the point Bones."

"The rules of a relationship," she blurted. "Something along the lines of first date, going steady, spending the night, spending the weekend, weekend away, moving in, getting married…something like that. But…falling in love…I feel like that should come last. But we did it all out of order."

"No kidding," grinned Booth. "We fell in love first, and fell for each other second."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I loved you from the start, and the more I learned about you, the more I loved you."

"That's…true," she admitted. "For me as well concerning you."

"And how much crazy stuff have we done together as partners we probably wouldn't have as a couple?"

"A lot."

"That was rhetorical Bones."

"Oh. Sorry."

"No worries."

"Well…we probably wouldn't have gotten to know each other in the same manner."

"So true."

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"I…I hope I didn't force you into this," she said quickly. "I mean…Thursday…I was so upset. I feel like you didn't have to…"

"I wanted to," he interrupted. Then he rolled his eyes as he remembered. "Obviously."

"The Thai Food did actually taste better that night," she noted. He laughed quietly. They didn't say anything again, both staring at the trees.

"So what are we going to do about it?" she finally asked.

"Remember what I told you earlier?"

"About head size?"

"No…try again."

"About driving?"

"No!"

"About drinking my milk for your own benefit?"

"No!" he said exasperatedly. "About people just being people."

"The fries falling where they may?"

"The _chips_ Bones, the _chips_ as in poker chips falling, not potatoes. But yes."

"Playing it by sight?"

"Ear."

"Playing it by ear?"

"Yes. Just let things settle."

"What if they don't?"

"We're the center Bones; things will settle quickly with or without our consent."

"You think they'll find out?"

"You don't think they'll know as soon as they see us?"

"So it's not national security."

"Bones…" he sighed with a laugh. He sat up and her head drifted into his lap. She stared up at his face. Gingerly, as if positive he was dreaming, he ran one finger down her jaw and up under her neck. She shivered, goosebumps rising.

"Bones…I…I…" he leaned down and for a brief, explosive second, Brennan's glass heart full of light burst forth and dazzled them both in a perfect, cool kiss.

"Booth I love you. You taught me what love is, and somewhere in the middle of it, I realized what you described was how I always felt about you. How I do feel about you." He laughed quietly.

"I don't think I could think of a more perfect day." She smiled up at him.

"How about that ice cream?" He tickled her ribs as she giggled breathlessly.

"You seen the Princess Bride Bones?" he didn't expect an answer.

"Yes," she said honestly, "It was one of my dad's…is one of his favorite movies."

"Well then," smiled Booth smugly. "Ice cream."

"Ice cream," she said, letting him help her to her feet and dusting off her back, paying careful attention to her pants pockets that had her squealing and jumping in false outrage. He held her tightly by the forearms. Their foreheads just touched and he backed her against her mother's grave as he had done a mere hour ago to a stranger's. This time she didn't resist the beautiful, deep kiss that dappled her face and mixed with the shadow laced sunlight.

"As you wish," he said huskily. Taking his hand, she walked out of the shadow of death.

Into the sun.


	13. To Miss A Kiss

**Chapter 13: To Miss A Kiss**

**Please review ;) So me and the review button can do a happy jig. Also, some ideas...**

"Brought you a present," grunted Booth, setting the thermos on her desk with a soft _tic_ that grated on Brennan's spine and hurt her aching head. She had cotton mouth and though she was indoors, had yet to remove her sunglasses and not out of vanity. She raised the thermos to her lips, expecting coffee and instead sighing at the cool bitter taste.

"Thanks Booth," she said, shoulders slumping and two more syllabic _tics_ followed onto her desk; aspirin. She downed them both with her cooling cup of coffee before sipping more out of the thermos.

"That was…some night," he groaned. Brennan couldn't even muster a tired chuckle.

"Let's never do that on a Sunday again." Angela came cheerfully skipping in.

"How are the two love birds?" she chirruped, "And your face Brennan? No need to wear those monstrous fly eyes." She yanked the lenses over Brennan's slowed reaction time and put them on the table. Both Booth and Brennan were cringing at her high pitched feverish excitement.

"Hello to you too Angela," grumbled Booth and slunk away to find a dark, quiet place for his aching head.

"Your eye looks loads better; the stitches are healing nicely."

"I get them out later this week," said Brennan evenly, hitching her control back into place. "I can only imagine what comments I'll receive though." She sighed heavily; so much had taken place since Angela had seen her. First Padme and Jared, then her father and her mother…

Angela's stunned sputtering and monstrous coughing suddenly filled the room as she attempted to hack up a lung.

"Brennan," she croaked, crooking her fingers at the cold coffee. Brennan hurriedly passed her the cup. She swallowed, the gulps sounding almost outrageously loud. "That is _not_ coffee," she managed to wheeze pointing an accusing finger at the thermos Booth had dropped off. Brennan nodded daintily.

"I am aware."

"_What,_" gasped Angela still clutching a hand to her burning throat and chest, _"is _that?"

"I believe," said Brennan, trying to remain clinically detached but a smile breaking the façade, "it's a mixture of scotch and tequila."

"It's 9:00 in the morning Brennan," heaved Angela, still coughing into a fist.

"I need it," she grunted, mimicking Booth. Angela's disgusted burning lungs suddenly filled with air, ready to spew questions a mile a minute. Her wide mouth broke into an outrageously flirtatious grin.

"Oh _really_. What did you and Booth do last night Brennan? More…limbo?"

"No," said Brennan, for once at ease with the teasing. "We were…experimenting," she said evasively.

"Sounds like college," said Angela wistfully, "God I miss those days."

Brennan made a sound like agreement as she mused back over the previous evening.

"What do you want to do now Bones?" Booth was driving, as always, Brennan feeling a little more worse for the wear from being on her feet all day. Plus her face was starting to throb.

"Can we have a beer?" she suggested.

"Ice cream and beer? Bones, you're going to fatten me up!"

"That's my evil plan all along," she nodded sagely, "fatten you up and put you in the oven." Booth glanced askance at her.

"What?"

"From Hansel and Gretel," she said, hurt that he didn't get the cultural reference.

"That's not exactly how the story goes." She pouted until he crowed,

"Better than beer, look at that!" They had come up on a liquor store. "I'm thinking single malt scotch."

"Can we have legitimate cups this time," teased Brennan, "not those crumpled paper ones?"

"You loved those, don't even deny it," rumbled Booth with a laugh, pulling into the lot.

10 minutes later they were at her apartment, Booth's overnight clothes heaped in a corner of the room sitting on a blanket on the couch.

"What shall we drink to?" she mused, toasting her shot glass to Booth. He likewise raised his.

"To missed opportunities."

"I'll drink to that." They took a shot. Booth refilled the two, finger length glasses.

"To all those times I wanted to kiss you," laughed Booth, "but refrained." They took a shot.

"Ditto." They took another shot. His face lit up with little boy delight.

"Let's take a shot for every time I missed a kiss." Brennan clinked her glass.

"Okay. First time – I should have kissed you on our second case. On the shooting range."

"Amen." They chased their spit with burning scotch.

"When we went to Washington and all those dumb hicks were dancing with you." Brennan laughed.

"I'll drink to that one. If for my own sake!"

"Okay, you go then little miss smart aleck."

"When…" she mused, "You first found out I was a foster kid."

"You were good with the little boy," he shrugged, downing the alcohol. She followed suit and nodded the go ahead at him.

"When your ex-professor Michael showed up; God I wanted to slug him. I should have kissed you outside the court room, when that jury consultant was picking on you."

"Exactly!" said Brennan a little wildly, gesticulating with flair. "Yeah. Why didn't you do that?"

"You're turn," he teased, dodging the question.

"During the Christmas we were locked in." They drank.

"In Los Angeles." Another shot.

"In Vegas." They both laughed giddily.

"Oh Vegas should be in a category all its own," smoldered Booth. "I swear to God I almost took you in that bed then and there." Brennan was flushed from pleasure, embarrassment, and arousal.

"Playing air guitar."

"Foreigner!" shrieked Brennan, holding her empty shot glass to the sky. The list proceeded as they got rip roaringly drunk; moving from the small bottle of scotch to the monstrous bottle of tequila Brennan unearthed from her Kitchen.

"In New Orleans."

"On every friggin' vacation."

"When you found your mother's bones."

"When I found Dad again."

"Hell, throw in some Russ too." They laughed giddily, collapsing into each other's arms. They were so drunk at this point, Booth could hardly lift the bottle; the shots grew fewer as the list grew longer. The alcohol became an accommodation for a particularly spectacular failure for missing an opportunity.

"After you killed someone."

"You gave me Jasper."

"Don't forget Brainy smurf."

"To brainy smurf!" They downed a shot.

"After the beauty contest right before we ordered Thai food."

"I love Thai Food. Shot for Thai food!" Brennan sloppily conceded.

"This couch is a mess," she giggled, completely inebriated.

"Goddamn, to after the gravedigger." Brennan sobered up.

"Both times," she agreed, and they downed another shot before the list continued.

"During our guy hug."

"After Howard Epps."

"Screw Sully and all of that horrendous mess," groaned Booth.

"I liked Sully," she protested weakly.

"So did I!" yelled Booth, too loud but too drunk to care. "But I really liked you more."

"When you were kidnapped Booth."

"That ridiculous pony play incident."

"When you told me what making love was," she corroborated. They drank to that.

"Meeting Sweets."

"Ugh, Sweets." They drank to him with mumbled toasts.

"On Halloween. Lasso of truth."

"Making pottery."

"Playing with baby Andy."

"After your dad's trial."

"Karaoke night."

"After Zack."

"In London."

"I _said_ all our trips Bones."

"After we buried the dog."

"Ripley."

"To Ripley." They drank again.

"Shoulda socked Jared after he kissed you. Then kissed you."

"That would have been nice," she murmured sleepily. Their responses were slowing.

"On the airplane to China."

"You already _said_ all the trips Booth."

"Shuddup. We never left…sovgrin…sovereign...US... place."

"As carnival workers."

"YES. God yes."

"Another shared bed," she mumbled with a grin.

"When we were ice skating."

"After the metal band; telling Sweets our pasts."

"Almost," he whispered. "Almost."

"Before you were in surgery," she whimpered.

"Right after I got out."

"At the Smithsonian exhibit."

"When Pops came to visit."

"I love Pops," she smiled into his shoulder. Their shot glasses lay forgotten.

"At Christmas this year when you were taking off my clothes."

"You're sort of beautiful," she mumbled into his arm. His voice was hesitant.

"After the JFK…the _not_ JFK…" she nodded in understanding; she couldn't tell him, even completely trashed, that she believed it had been a former president.

"Toasting with Jared," she sighed. They both lay still.

"To love," Booth grinned, and they took one last shot.

"For every time we can't even think of," huffed Brennan.

"Right now," Booth murmured and they shared a long alcohol flavored kiss. Neither woke up until the following morning, groaning but completely content.

"Sweetie," said Angela, waving a hand before Brennan's eyes. "Exactly _how much_ did you have to drink last night?"

"Don't tell me these things," groaned Cam, inopportunely walking in on the wrong moment.

"A _lot_," said Brennan fervently. Cam dimpled her signature smile and walked forward to hand Brennan papers before gasping.

"Doctor Brennan," she stuttered, "your face."

"Oh," said Brennan inanely gesturing. "Yes. Well, Booth timed me."

"Clocked you," corrected Angela automatically. "With a baseball bat."

"My goodness," smiled Cam, "I'm almost jealous of your eventful weekend."

Booth walked in. "Don't be Cam…seriously. Shot poker is nothing compared to this." With raised eyebrows and a laugh, she patted his arm gingerly and left.

"Think you'll make it today Bones?" grimaced Booth. She nodded.

"Later?" she coughed. He nodded and saluted. With a wink and a grin and a serious point at the mug of alcohol, he was gone.

He turned when he heard breathless, skittering footsteps behind him. Bones almost collided in his arms as he held her tightly to keep her from falling.

"Bones. What's wrong?" She blinked up at him, equal parts mixture of apprehension, tears, frustration and joy.

"I don't ever want this to be on our list." And she kissed him in front of the whole lab.


	14. Standing Ovation

**Chapter 14: Standing Ovation**

**Sorry this took a while; real world interfered. I'm so excited for the long Bones hiatus to end in 6 days!**

For a pure shining moment, his hands closed around her waist and her hands curled into his short hair. They broke apart at the unlovely cacophony of shattering glass as one of the technicians dropped a beaker in shock.

Looking around guiltily, Brennan felt her face flushing with acute embarrassment. What had she done? _It was totally irrational_, her mind berated her. _You've ruined every—_

Her thoughts were cut off abruptly with the most unusual sound she had ever heard in the lab. Her mind took a moment to place it, sifting through what it could possibly be before it dawned on her.

It was applause.

Starting with Hodgins whose whoops and whistles were soon joined by the platform of scrambling, happy (despite Fisher) interns, it spread through the lab in ripples as the technicians who Booth made fun of every other day as eggheads joined in, the security guards that were forever chasing Dr. Brennan as she bounded up and down the platform flagrantly defying the use of her keycard and even through the complete strangers caught up in the moment of cheering for something pure in the midst of a lab of ancient death.

"I did _not_ just see what I thought I saw," drawled Caroline Julian, walking through the automatic doors. "Did someone bet you to do that? Because when I did it, even _I_ didn't get that much tongue." Booth laughed self consciously as a swarm of people rushed up all at once, Caroline in the lead.

"Please say you have a case," whispered Brennan under her breath to her. She gave her that _look_, the one only Caroline could give that even made Brennan think twice about opening her mouth.

"Cheri, we have a case. And it's not in DC."

Booth hadn't heard a word of the exchange; he was too busy being squeezed to death by Angela around the middle (regardless of her previous knowledge, she kept muttering _I knew it. I knew it!_), being punched by Hodgins who was most likely leaving bruises up and down his arm as he made strangled "Yeah mannnnn" sounds and laughed at by Cam who was squeezing what little of his arm Angela wasn't blocking or Hodgins desperately pounding, into a red weal of support.

"We can stop congratulating me now," he squeaked when Hodgins punched too low and caught him in the kidney. "Or there won't be any left of me."

"I knew it," beamed Angela throatily. "I mean, I really did know it but for you two to be public-"

"Wait, how come you knew and I didn't?" pouted Hodgins.

"You didn't tell me Seeley," accused Cam, purposefully taunting him with his name.

"_Camille_," he teased back, "it just happened. I mean, we hadn't done anything until Thursday-"

"What?" shrieked Cam. "In _here! _In Bone Storage?"

"Limbo," corrected Angela automatically.

"I don't care what it's called do you know how unsanitary-"

"We didn't do it in Limbo," screeched Booth exasperatedly. There was a sudden silence around him that echoed through the lab. His face flushed dully. "We didn't," he said defensively. Brennan was so red she couldn't decide where to look.

The awkward silence was broken by Hodgins who could hardly contain his exuberance.

"But you did _do_ it right?" Booth and Brennan hurriedly looked at Caroline.

"You said we had a case?" Somehow, the comedic timing was perfect, and all the interns, technicians, security guards and squints burst out laughing at Booth's tone of voice. Amidst the peals of laughter, Brennan and Booth, scarlet, leaned towards a very un-amused and unruffled Caroline to hear what she had to say.

"_Hawaii?" _echoed Brennan and Booth in shock.

"You've got to be kidding Caroline," said Booth glancing at Bones nervously. It was one thing to be partners and share a bed asexually, and one thing to declare love, and one more thing to even _had_ shared a bed sexually….and quite another to do it _all_ at the same time _while_ solving and fighting crime. It was their first case together…as together as they could be after being 'together' for five years; and it was in a tropical island getaway.

Caroline gave them another look. "I never kid," she said, her deadpan expression never moving. "I never joke. I'm telling you there is a murderer who imports cocaine in pineapple shipments from Japan, and you are _laughing_ at some poor family's pain because you think that I'm joking." Brennan and Booth exchanged a look.

"Of course not," rushed Brennan simultaneously as Booth said,

"I didn't mean it like _that._" She stared at them.

"I should hope not Cheri. You two better get your act together," she said, poking a finger at Brennan, "and don't you go floating off on another island because you think you see some ancient voodoo schmoodoo of a tribe that's been dead hundreds of years-"

"That's not correct," Brennan interrupted, "Voodoo magic-"

"Bones," chided Booth and Brennan subsided. Caroline twisted her lips wryly.

"That's better. I don't like being corrected, but the world has been restored." She lifted her hands and in a droll voice said, "Hallelujah" before walking away, her briefcase swinging at her side and the file somehow appearing in Booth's hand with no conscious memory of her handing it to him.

Brennan was methodically packing in her office before heading home to shove clothes into a bag; they were leaving tomorrow. Brennan swallowed. For the first time in her life, she was debating what to wear. Weekend getaway indeed, more like a weekend in hell; she'd be next to Booth like they were a couple. Maybe that's exactly what they were. She rubbed her aching head; she didn't like labeling them. Or thinking about it. She cast around for something else to pack, and realized it was the only thing she _could_ think about.

The interruption of Angela and Cam was an almost welcome relief to her own tormenting thoughts.

"_I_ found out Friday morning," Angela was informing Cam, "the bathroom," she chuckled throatily, "let's just say you should have seen the bathroom."

"My my my, Dr. Brennan," teased Cam, "I hear someone had a messy Thursday night."

"You're just lucky you didn't sit on the couch," said Angela darkly and Cam winced and laughed simultaneously.

"I'd love to go over that with a fluoroscope."

"Please….please don't," blushed Brennan, causing the other two to laugh uproariously between them.

"Tell me everything," dimpled Cam; she seemed genuinely happy for them. Her ties to Booth, if they were simply friendship, didn't seem tenuous. Brennan was surprised until her analytical mind noticed a bruise lower down on Cam's neck, her latte skin well concealing it, but not making it invisible.

"Well, that would not be fair," hedged Brennan. "Booth says what's ours is between us." Brennan rubbed her neck and Cam immediately flushed a little darker and stopped interrogating.

"Fair enough," she nodded, awarding Brennan with a courteous nod of a salute.

Angela, for once, missed out on the exchange.

"I saw you at the hospital sweetie…"

"You left," remembered Brennan. "You slept over at Booth's place with us and you left."

"You did what?" asked Cam in shock.

"I was scared that Booth wasn't going to be a gentleman," sniffed Angela. "So me and Brennan slept in Booth's bed, and Booth slept on the couch.

"Then why did you leave?" asked Cam, puzzled.

"I had…I had a nightmare," confessed Brennan, her hands stilling from packing. Two sets of almost black eyes turned to her in inquiry. She shrugged defensively. "Booth…was nice to me. He was just being Booth. We talked it out and I fell back asleep."

"Still…still confused," blinked Cam.

"I found them," said Angela disparagingly. "I thought at first…" Cam looked down at the table.

"We get it Angela," she coughed, "maybe you could just skip to the next part?" Brennan shot her a look of pure gratitude.

"Well they weren't," said Angela. Brennan shook her head aggressively. "They just looked," her voice darkened with sincerity, "they looked peaceful. So…I left. He had her well in hand." Her voice brightened again. "But what I want to know is what happened after I covered you guys up in the chair."

Cam opened her mouth in surprise but shut it quickly when Brennan spoke.

"Well, my eye," she motioned at it as if surprised it was still there before groaning, "…not Hawaii…" Angela brushed it off and gestured impatiently for her to continue. Brennan sighed and complied. "Well Jared and Padme found us…Jared had let himself in." Cam started laughing as Angela's mouth fell open.

"Oh my God, were you totally mortified? Was it horribly embarrassing? What was Jared even doing there?"

"He had brought Booth lunch and wanted to have a movie marathon. And since I was already there…no, it wasn't awkward. Padme is really nice. She help soak my eye in Epsom salt and iced it alternatively. We watched some spy movie. A trilogy."

"You mean the Bourne series?" Cam's eyebrows rose. "I love those." Angela nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, what'd you think? Didn't I _tell_ you Matt Damon is a hottie?"

"I…fell asleep," confessed Brennan. "I don't remember most of it." The two other women groaned theatrically.

"Then…" prompted Angela. Brennan blushed dully and the two pounced on her, leaning forward eagerly.

"Well Booth drove me home…but I suppose the narcotics put me back to sleep because he carried me upstairs and…" her blush darkened.

"My dad was there."

"No!"

"Really?" The squeals of delight and gasps of entertainment were both disconcerting and flattering to Brennan; she was normally a very dry speaker and wasn't sure how to respond to them hanging on her every word.

"It's not important," hurried Brennan; she felt that some things, at least, were private. "Booth left me on the couch and I woke up and went to bed later." She shrugged.

"He came by yesterday and we went to my mother's grave." Their sympathetic squeals and murmurs of approval clearly led them to believe nothing romantic could have happened. Brennan smiled tightly, and left it at that.

"What about the drinking?" Angela teased. Brennan swallowed and told a little white lie.

"I was feeling…emotional," she said vaguely, and they both drew the logical conclusion and made sympathetic sorry noises from her sad day yesterday. Inwardly Brennan was glowing; she would never forget yesterday, not in a hundred years.

Brennan sat awkwardly looking around for something else to pack for their new case.

"So…Hawaii…" mused Cam. "Use sunscreen. Even I get burned out there. And well, you are…rather pale."

"What is wrong with pale?" demanded Brennan. "That is the third time someone has groused about me being pale." Cam looked at Angela who guiltily raised a hand.

"More importantly," wheedled Angela, standing up and then wedging herself next to Brennan's hip, "what are you _wearing?_" Blushing, Brennan honestly admitted.

"I don't know."

"That has got to change. We're going shopping. Now. Before tomorrow. Cam?" Cam politely abstained.

"I…uh…have some work to do." Brennan cleared her throat.

"I might want to stop for some more of the coverup for my eye."

"It's looking loads better. It should be gone in a couple of days sweetie." Angela enthused. Cam tightened her lips and coughed at Brennan's subtle jab her way.

"Brennan, where…where did you get your coverup again?" With a smile and a hand to her neck, Brennan told her before Angela dragged her away by the arm to her car.


	15. Come Succumb to Coconut Rum

**Chapter 15: Come Succumb to Coconut Rum**

**Sorry jeesh this has been growing and growing on my computer. I was going to blend it even longer, but the next chapter spun out of hand, so I decided this was a moderate cutoff. I love cute B&B whirlwind undercovers. (ahahaha, pun intended) Please review! I am truly flattered and a little flushed by the emails I get - even if they are only a couple words.**

"I hate the name Ellen. I sound fat and old. Or blonde. I'm not _any_ of those things," Brennan griped under her breath to Booth, wobbling slightly in a sundress and moderate wedge heels. They were walking through the Maui airport; the wide-open spaces where windows should have been were letting in a sultry breeze filled with birds and the smell of a tempest rolling over the rainforest in the mountains.

"You're definitely not blonde," chuckled Booth under his breath and Brennan screeched a protest.

"Boo- I mean _Greg_," her face twisted sourly. "And how come your name is normal?" Booth smirked before slapping her butt soundly in public.

"Come on sweetheart," he said loudly, "isn't this exciting? Maui. Wow. Wowie Maui," he chuckled, "Hey listen Bones, wowie Maui."

"Booth," she griped.

"Greg," he corrected. She stuck her tongue out childishly as he swung their shared hideous suitcase off the baggage claim. For a moment her mouth went dry as she watched a loose drop of sweat roll down the biceps of his big, flexing arms coming out of his completely outrageous tacky shirt.

"Well, _honey_," she simpered, "Did you have to buy that hideous shirt?" He grinned his little boys grin devilishly back at her.

"Well Ellie," Brennan's mouth twisted in disgust, "I could have bought the one with naked women on it. Would that have made you happier?"

"No," she pouted. A few men around Booth laughed and he gave them the comrade nod. Brennan stalked away before he trotted cheerfully to catch up. They climbed into the shuttle that would take them to their rental car. People on the bus were watching Brennan walk possessively. Booth gritted his jaw line and pulled her arm down next to him.

"Here honey," he said, glowering fiercely at all the eligible men, and even some elderly but interested ones, "sit next to me." Brennan smiled angelically and instead sat on his lap.

"We should leave some seats open," she said in a dark, rich voice that had him trembling beneath her as her thighs opened just a little in the dress, firmly grinding her hips over his very quickly rousing erection. Embarrassed he tried to push her teasingly off. Instead she licked her lips and smacked them over her shoulder.

"Greg, don't be rude." Booth, mortified and yet amused by her flagrant teasing, finally complied and she remained sitting in his lap until they checked their key from the car rental.

Brennan was instantly mollified by Booth's choice of a ride; flashy and vagrant, the mustang screamed honeymoon as they both got inside after a cheery _Mahalo_ and sped down the street toward their hotel.

"Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Wiley and congratulations again on your nuptials." Booth threw a smile over his shoulder until he and Brennan were in the elevator before rounding on her.

"Why do they have to call it nuptials? It's just creepy. It's weird right? Why don't they call it marriage or honeymoon? Nuptials. Ew. It sounds like an organ." Brennan raised an eyebrow.

"You are very interesting." Booth scoffed as they fought pettily, both trying to hide their rising anxiety at the quickly approaching door of a shared room. Their bickering fell silent as they walked down the hall on the very top floor, Brennan admiring the furnishings.

"This is a very nice hotel…Greg." Her voice was approving and he threw a grin over his shoulder.

"Five stars Bo-I mean, Ellen."

When he keyed open the door, Brennan gasped.

"Wow this is amazing. How did we get such a good room?" Booth smirked.

"Honeymoon suite." Smiling suggestively, Brennan swung her hips seductively as she stalked over to him; right as she was about to grab his gorgeous head of hair she was distracted by both the knocking on the door and a gift basket sitting in the midst of their own kitchen. Booth answered the door while Brennan began rifling through the basket that simply said _For the Happy Couple_. She smiled at the hearts, the brochures for romantic snorkeling, cruises, sight seeing trips, mountain biking and whale watching before her fingers found the champagne, strawberries, and to her great consternation and amusement, pack of pleasure fit condoms.

"Booth?" she called over her shoulder.

"Ellen," he returned loudly, and she pressed her lips together. Damn. Booth finished tipping the bell boy who gave him a saucy wink.

"Yeah, yeah kid, that's great," he grumbled, practically shoving him out the door. When Brennan had been walking towards him, he had been sure he had died and gone to heaven. Now he was upset that their hideous suitcase delivery had interrupted. Feeling daring and unused to the freedom they had expressed but never explored, Booth gently snaked his big, warm hands over her stomach and around her waist. He felt her breath hitch and her muscles flex involuntarily. He laughed deeply in her ear and felt her flesh prickle with goosebumps.

"Booth…Greg…Booth – I…" she was stuttering as he began gently nibbling on an earlobe like it was a delicacy. "Do you…" her voice shook embarrassingly, "want some champagne?" He nodded against her neck and when he let her go to reach for the bottle he chuckled throatily and ripped the zipper down her back.

"Booth!" she squealed, sounding like his old familiar partner as she attempted to cover herself while glaring at him. But Booth was having none of it; her sheer lace bra was tantalizing as he backed her into the kitchen next to the basket and slid the straps of that sweet sundress that had been swimming in his vision all eight hours of flight long. She wasn't kissing back; her ardent love was replaced by trepidation. With great control he pulled back, his hands still covering her forearms.

"Hey," he whispered, stepping in as close as he could so she could feel him up against her. Confused, she took a cue from him and mimicked his pose, putting her hands on his forearms over his short sleeves. "Hey," he smiled, his angelic heart breaking smile. "I love you. I have always loved you. I will love no one but you until the day I die." Her voice was as shaky as her balance on her wedge heels.

"This isn't our honeymoon Booth," she whispered. He stopped smiling and stared her in the eyes until her very soul was shaking on display.

"We don't have to do this Bones." He watched her eyes flicker as she waded through the options before her blue eyes hardened in a decision.

"This shirt really _is_ unattractive," she whispered, before ripping it down his arms. Laughing in outrage, he attacked her against the cold marble of the kitchen counter and feverishly ran his hands down her dress, pushing it to the floor around her wedge heels that made her usual five nine stature almost his height. When he saw what lay below her belly button, he groaned out loud.

"No underwear? You're serious, you went on a flight commando?" He could hear her breathless laughter as his hands roved over her body as if worshipping his own personal goddess. Her hands, in turn, were suddenly throwing his cocky belt buckle on the floor and forcing his shorts to the ground.

"The dress was tight!" she giggled, and they made love in the kitchen; not even making it to the bedroom, on cold marble that burned against her feverish skin and three inch wedge heels that never had the chance to come off.

The last coherent thought before she was helplessly moaning Booth's name was that the concierge was truly considerate; they made excellent use of the condoms.

"Bones! Come on let's go! Daylight's burning and the smugglers have a smoothie shop on the beach!"

"Hold on _Greg_," emphasized Brennan, finishing tying her braid off. She emerged in a terry cloth cover-up dress and flip-flops. She laughed when she saw Booth who was standing cheekily in a bright green inter tube, in a sleeveless gym shirt and swim trunks covered in poker chips.

"That's a Booth outfit," she laughed, "Not a Greg Wiley one." Booth frowned.

"Well aren't you wearing your own swimsuit?" Brennan smiled smugly.

"Angela took me shopping." She brushed past him to dig through the two duffels that had been concealed in the hideous carpetbag suitcase. "Here," she said, throwing a pair of green swim trunks with a very boring camouflage pattern at him. "Look, they're even army style." Booth's face turned sour.

"Can't I see what _you're_ wearing?" Brennan smiled to herself.

"We'll be down on the beach as soon as you get those on." With a vivacious smirk, Booth pantsed himself within the confines of the green inter tube that was perfectly placed over his waist as a sort of audacious flaunting of modesty.

"Booth," screeched Brennan, turning her eyes away out of habit, blushing furiously. She didn't know why; even before their intercourse she had seen him fully nude.

"Nothing you ain't seen before Ellen," teased Booth, even though they were safe in their own suite. Brennan smiled privately at his teasing- he always knew how to make a situation seem normal between partners. Being with him in this way wasn't as difficult as she had originally thought – leastways not yet. And the sex was definitely a mind blowing plus.

"Let's go," Booth smirked, holding his arm out. Brennan ducked under it and pressed herself firmly to him. She quickly rebounded.

"You've got to carry the tube," she griped.

"What?" whined Booth, possessively clutching the inter tube around his hips.

"You aren't Booth today," Brennan reminded him, "You have to be civil. Mature. You down for it?"

"Are you _up_ for it Bones, _up _for it." With an upset face like a little boy whose toy was taken away, Booth shrugged out of the green ring and tucked it under his arm as Brennan slung a beach bag over her shoulder and a wicker hat over her head.

"Ellen?" grunted Booth, getting thwapped in the face when she ducked into his body.

"I'm very fair…pale…Greg," she pouted. Booth laughed and they walked tucked together to the elevator.

Once on the beach, Booth insisted on carrying her like some sort of prized animal to the water, while she kicked and screamed like the four-year-old little girl several feet away. Dousing her in moderately cold salt water, Booth winced as he realized they had yet to remove their coverups.

"Whoops," he laughed, "sorry about your…er…dress Ellen."

"Greg!" she shrieked, splashing water onto his shirt until he was similarly drenched. "Can we please lay these out to dry first?" With a chuckle he chased her up the beach and toed a line in the sand.

"Race you back to the towels!"

"The sand is hot!" she yipped, skipping quickly over it, feeling the burning spreading over her soles. He laughed outrageously until they reached their cabana; no luxury had been spared for the honeymoon suite. When they returned to their towels, piña coladas had been delivered on the house with little umbrellas on their table. They hungrily slurped them down before Booth shrugged out of his drenched shirt and hung it to dry on the back of his chair in the sun.

"Come on _Ellen_," he complained, "hurry up." Brennan daintily sucked the last of the coconut rum from the smoothie and stood languorously up. Watching him take off his shirt never ceased to send that cold little thrill to warm her abdomen. The water rippling off his chest in tiny rivers was killing her. Swiping gingerly at her hair plastered to her face, and glad it was already confined in a braid and not wildly flinging itself about, Brennan stood up. She heard Booth's breath hitch as she shimmied out of her sopping terry cloth cover up and hung it carelessly over the back of her chair before turning to grin at her partner.

Booth thought his mind had exploded somewhere back in rum land. Watching her curving pink lips tighten around the straw was enough to send him sprawling into the mental gutter. However, watching her so innocently strip tease almost killed him then and there. He needed to get in that water before he busted something. When inches of her bare legs had been revealed at a time, he had almost choked on his own tongue; her great reveal of a most un-Brennan like swimsuit had him almost collapsing in the dust, gasping for water for the fire that was raging under his skin that had nothing to do with the sun.

"Ellen," he stuttered and she grinned and twirled.

"You like it Greg? It's new," she chirped falsely. Booth didn't even care; the ruffles of magenta fabric that was barely covering her perfect ass and the cute ruffles that were pushing her breasts out of a _strapless_ bathing suit, were simply killing him. Her pristine ivory skin was glowing under the tropical Maui sun, reminding him that she could be hurt. A sort of ferocious protectiveness roared in his chest and he quickly turned to the sunscreen bag.

"Easy there Ellen," he said quietly, stepping into her, "Like you said, you're pretty pale."

"That will soon be remedied," she laughed girlishly. Booth's mind was dripping out of his ears like pudding; Bones, his Bones, had just laughed girlishly.

Squirting a big glob of sunscreen into his hand he reverently smoothed it over her presented back. She squirmed and giggled.

"That's cold!" He couldn't help but smile foolishly back; he was also pretty sure that everyone around them was insanely jealous.

"Sorry," he murmured, concentrating on smoothing white over white, covering every spot. His hands traveled lower before encircling her stomach.

"Greg," she whispered, breathlessly, "I…I can do that." He chuckled darkly into her ear and felt her shiver. She pulled away and he pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. The front of her swimsuit cups couldn't quite constrain her arousal. She looked down and then back at him in faux anger before pointedly looking at the front of _his_ swimsuit.

"Get my back?" he offered, quickly turning away. He hissed as he felt her hands rubbing something smooth and creamy over him. _Why didn't we think of this sooner_, he groused to himself_, a massage…candles…_ he had to stop himself for a bit before taking her hand and racing back to the water.

The morning passed sweetly in a childlike way. Although Booth had been planning an erotic vacation, he couldn't change who he and his partner were and so they played cheerfully in the sand; building sandcastles out of their empty piña colada cups and finding shells to decorate, collect and coral to fish out of the bottom of the ocean. They splashed and ran around, played tag and dunked each other and had lunch at a little stand with umbrellas in their drinks.

They briefly took a break from their role playing to question witnesses around their lunch shack that was the perpetrator for their case and Booth's face fell when he realized he'd have to follow up a lead. Alone. Bones, no matter how much she disguised herself with a staid name and flashy bathing suit was much too memorable in the minds of men to be noticed; much less dependent upon drugs coming from middle class suburbia as she so supposedly did.

"It's okay Booth," she whispered, "I'll just tan over there Greg."

"Put on more sunscreen Ellie," he reminded her. She smiled at him and winked.

"I'm already toasty. I'll take a quick dip and meet you back at the cabana in an hour or two?"

"Better make it three," winced Booth, but Bones nodded placidly in understanding before skipping off into the white waves foaming around her perfect white calves until like a goddess so far away, Booth couldn't tell where she ended and the ocean begun.


	16. Blisters & Bones

**Chapter 16: Blisters & Bones**

**Legit - this actually happened almost to the tee to someone I know. Review please! My God, has it really come to me begging shamelessly for my self esteem? Sad.**

Booth was satisfied; the case was progressing nicely and he had several new leads on his murderer. He walked/trotted back to the beachfront in front of his hotel at a quick clip, greeted and let into the restricted roped section by an attendant who met him at the line of sand with: "Hello Mr. Wiley." Brennan was a long way off yet, he knew roughly where she was located and was the farthest away from his current position as she could get. He walked - not quite leisurely, for the sand was scorching - to where the strung out line of cabana chairs were erected. It had taken longer than anticipated to find more information and had been roughly four hours or more since Brennan had been alone. Booth hoped she had rested; he wondered if she was even still on the beach.

Smiling, he saw her form, sprawled face up, looking like either she was tanning luxuriously or sound asleep. Big sunglasses Angela had provided screened her face that was turned towards him from a hundred feet away. Booth slowed to a walk, admiring the perfect shape of her limbs. Even from here he could see she had already burned to a tinted pink. She was going to be angry when she awoke; he chuckled. In juxtaposition, he had already toasted into a nice tan color.

Booth's grin slowly faded into a worried frown as he approached more closely; Brennan's rose-colored skin was deepening as he got nearer. He took off his sunglasses and squinted in the bright setting sun. The closer he got, the redder she became until he came to realize she was lobster red and his heart was racing. Standing over her, throwing his shadow over her bare, perfect stomach, he was horrified to see her beautiful ivory skin was severely blistered and burned a dark burgundy over her stomach, and the red hue lightened as it traveled down her legs. Similarly he noticed the tops of her breasts were blistering around the edges of her pink, ruffled swimsuit.

"Bones," he whispered to himself, his voice laden with agony. Her eyes fluttered open behind thick lenses and Brennan reached up to groggily pull them away. Her arm screamed in protest as her skin stretched. She frowned as she completed the action, swimming to the surface of consciousness while simultaneously noticing her newfound nausea, clammy skin and parched lips.

"Booth," she rasped, then felt tears come to her eyes as her stomach clenched and unclenched, literally ripping the frayed skin of her severely burned abdomen. Even breathing hurt. Tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes she looked down and whimpered.

"Oh my God," she croaked and then panted shallowly at the effort of straining her neck.

"Bone- Ellen, jeez we need to get you inside. Come on, I'll grab all the stuff." In a frenzy, Booth whirled away, snatching everything he could touch and flinging it back in the bag except her cover-up. While he dashed about, Brennan concentrated on sitting up. Panting and sobbing little gut wrenching sobs, she realized with a horrible sinking sensation she couldn't sit up; she couldn't even breathe. It was even worse than the time she had done 1,200 crunches in intervals over the course of the day; they next day she was sure her ribs were broken. This was a hundred times worse.

"Ellen, Ellie – hey, do you need help sitting up?" With a weak but grateful nod, Brennan looked pleadingly at Booth.

"Careful," she choked. Like a baby, Booth slipped a hand behind her back and tried to force her frozen muscles in a sitting position. With a scream that had everyone in earshot turning in shock and horror to glare at Booth, Brennan thrashed weakly. "Stop," she sobbed in a broken beg, "Please, please, please stop."

"How am I going to get you to the room?" he whispered, his face next to hers and 10 years older with worry creasing over his usual laugh lines. "Can I carry you?"

"I don't," she panted, "have much…of a choice…Greg."

"Stay here," he whispered. Sprinting off, he rushed to an aid's attention and quickly explained his situation so that the attendant would get their bags and effects. Brennan suffered quietly under the sun until something in a tiny glass was forced to her lips.

"Swallow. This will burn." Brennan thirstily swallowed and felt the liquor singe a fiery trail down her throat. She coughed and winced. "Again," whispered Booth. Catching to his game, Brennan swallowed again and a third time. When she felt like she could handle it she held up a hand.

"I'm ready," she whispered. Wincing, concern and love burning in his eyes so forcibly she couldn't stop staring at him completely entranced, Booth pulled her into his arms in one quick jerk. Brennan yelped and couldn't stop the tears from leaking over her cheeks.

People parted for them with winces and cries of empathy as Brennan's blistered stomach passed in their line of sight. Booth at first tried to walk as slowly as he could to make it as painless as possible. However, when Brennan couldn't stop weeping in agony, Booth growled and moved to plan b and ran with her, letting the quick jostling be the price of their haste. Brennan at first cried out, but clenched her teeth and kept her shrieking whimpers behind her teeth when she realized Booth was simply protecting her. People fled the elevator under Booth's ferocious glare and he kicked the top floor button. For the brief moments in the elevator Booth's mind flashed to carrying his comrades over the terrain of Iraq. Brennan felt him flinch and instead of paying attention to her own pain she concentrated on his face.

The scent of his neck invaded her nostrils previously filled with the painful combination of overheated sunscreen and the emetic scent of sweetly burned flesh. He was grimacing but her vision was so disjointed by both his jostling jogging and her brief flashes where the world went completely white, she felt the need to gasp out a question.

"You're upset." It wasn't the question she had been thinking of. Hers was a much more primal lament at the loss of their sex lives and her single handedly ruining their vacation through her own careless stupidity.

"Of course I'm upset," he seethed through gritted teeth; Brennan saw the numbers in the elevator rising with quiet dings and knew she had seconds before she wouldn't be able to force the words out because she'd be too busy trying to force the air in.

"You think this is your fault." As usual, she wasn't arguing with him; she simply voiced her guesses aloud in her most self assured tone and he either blew up at her and told her exactly how she was wrong, or he grew very quiet and nodded a quick, tight nod. Although she couldn't see his face, his entire body tensed with his silent head jerk.

"That's absurd Booth," she bitched. "I knew I was fair. I brought the hat but didn't think about the rest of my body. I just wanted to be a little tanner," she said it defensively but stopped breathing as he jolted out the door, sprinting down the hall so as to get her to a stable place more quickly than having to endure the agony of his arms. He chuckled darkly; the agony of his arms. How rich.

"You're wrong _Ellen_," he griped through clenched teeth. He was frantically trying to think how he could swipe her into the room without either dropping her or causing her unimaginable anguish. "I left you alone. I knew you forgot sunscreen. I should have been there."

"You can't protect me from the whole world Booth." She gasped as his fingers clenched involuntarily on her back, reminding her of their personas. "Did you at least get our guy?" One quick, tight nod again and they were standing in front of the door. Angrily Booth kicked a foot out.

"Damn," he cursed and repeated it at her instinctive whimper. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to jostle—" he cut off as the door was yanked open from the inside.

"Mr. Wiley," said a Polynesian man dressed in the uniform of the concierge. "We heard about your wife." He looked into Booth's arms as what little of Brennan's already burgundy face flushed scarlet. "We are so very sorry that this happened with our attendants on watch. We try not to wake sunbathers, but this level of burn severity should never have been allowed to occur. Please realize we are debriefing our staff forcibly now for ruining your vacation. Please also accept our condolences and assurance that everything inside is free of charge, as is the rest of your vacation and any services the Westin can offer." Surprised, Booth managed a grunted thank you before the man excused himself with a curt, courtly bow.

"Let me get you to the bed," he whispered under his breath.

"No sir," said a female voice. "We've prepared a bath for your wife." Booth's head snapped up.

"Excuse me?" and Brennan could tell that he had forgotten they were on assignment and was reacting to the assumed relationship between them as partners. _Why do people always think we are a couple?_ She managed to wonder wildly before another wave of heat stroke symptoms washed over her. The petite Japanese woman stuttered.

"Here. In the hot tub, we know how to treat this." Booth gingerly carried his lover into the luxurious grand scale bathroom specifically designed for two honeymooners. The sunken tub against one wall had a series of jets, headrests and even a falling shower inserted into the marble near the ceiling like a waterfall. It came out in a smooth sheet as well, instead of the usual rainfall from a showerhead. But Brennan's eyes were snagged on the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. The entire sunken tub was filled with ice water.

"Please," she whispered, both to Booth and to the young woman who had drawn the bath; the cart full of coolers that had obviously been a very labor-intensive task was parked in the doorway.

"I'll take it from here, thank you," grunted Booth and the woman fled but before she left a kick from Brennan had him wincing out loud. "Really Ms…Li? Thank you." Flushed and acutely embarrassed the young Ms. Li left pushing the rattling cart. Booth didn't let out his held breath until he heard the final door shut behind her.

"Is anyone else here?" he called out in general; Brennan wasn't paying attention. Her mind was currently swimming in her overwhelming need to drink half of the ice water and live in the rest for all time. Receiving silence as his answer Booth looked down at his partner's face.

"Okay Bones, we've gotta have a plan. You like plans, and logic." At that point, Temperance Brennan didn't care. She moaned instead. But Booth was having none of it. Talking it out seemed to be organizing and tamping his fury. "I'm gonna put you down here okay?" He gently laid her out on a cool marble shelf next to the tub and she hissed at the initial contact before sighing heavily.

"I could sleep here," she chuckled dryly before mentally kicking herself for laughing at all.

Booth shrugged out of his shirt but kept his swim trunks on. "Hey," he said softly, "I'm going to help you pull of your swimsuit."

"Just let me keep it on," she begged. She wasn't sure if she was afraid of the pain, or ashamed of her body, but either way she didn't want his hands to touch the scrap of cloth between her and dignity. Her eyes filled with tears as his hands moved to unbuckle her breast band but she was much too weak to fight him off.

"Easy Bones," he said frowning, "easy. Don't you go getting that look on your face. I won't bother you."

"I don't want you to see," she whispered brokenly. He grinned a parody of his little boy's cocky grin.

"I've seen you naked before." When she didn't even crack a smile and simply stared at the ceiling, battling to control her tears, he sighed. "What would make this easier for you?"

"If I'm naked," she insisted stubbornly, "then you should be too."

"Bones," he winced, staring at the cubes of ice floating around and imagining it on his bare…"Is it the only way?" She nodded slowly, seeming genuine.

"I'm sorry." He shrugged it off and rolled his shoulders impressively.

"Whatever, it's no big deal." He tore his shorts off and gingerly moved his hands to her clasp; he was lucky it was in the front of her bathing suit, cleverly disguised as big, overblown yellow buttons in the magenta ruffles.

"Be careful," she whimpered.

"Don't you trust me?" he grinned sweetly, his fingers moving an inch a minute, careful not to startle her. She took the question as seriously as she took everything he said, and she took it to heart which she always refuted (being a brain person herself.)

"With my life," she whispered honestly. The last button came undone in Booth's grasp and she hissed in pain and some rage as he carefully peeled the two halves down her ribs and laid them aside. He gasped, not in revulsion as she feared, but in horror. The perfection of her breasts was now ravished with trenches and furrows of skin parting in blistered trails.

"All this and a black eye," she grimaced in a morbid sort of joke. He laughed hollowly, too loudly. But it made them both feel more normal.

"Strike two for me," laughed Booth, self-deprecating. She wrapped her fingers tightly around his wrist.

"I don't know what that means," she said seriously. "But I don't think you have any strikes against me." With a crooked smile, he hooked two fingers in her bottoms. "Just rip them off in one sweep," she gasped with bated breath. She remembered she had said the same to him not a week ago when they had first been together. _How little has changed,_ she thought grimly in a dark sort of humor.

Instead, Booth eased them off, little by little, while she winced and hissed every step of the way. Even where the swimsuit had been wrapped against her body, that skin was still pink. Not a nails width of her body was left white. Even the top of her skull was flushed dully pink.

"I'm going to pick you up, very slowly," cautioned Booth and proceeded to do so as she tried not to cry out in agony. Although they were both naked and Booth was carrying her into a tub, what Angela had seen in their asexuality was echoed here. Calm and strong, they both grasped each other – Booth physically while Brennan hung onto his mentality for dear life – and sank into the tub. Brennan actually gave a small scream of delight, not far from the ones he had forced from her rational being in bed, at the feel of the ice water against her red, raped skin.

Booth began shivering almost instantly, but he refused to leave her, and they sat for a long while in the tub, talking incautiously about everything and nothing at all. Booth, after hauling himself out, sat on the rim with his feet in the pool, and Brennan propped against his feet having no core strength to remain seated without help. Many years later, they would remember the moment and their rambling hour long talk but not the words.

The words, after all, weren't really what they were talking about.


	17. Swathes of Skin

**Chapter 17: Swathes of Skin**

**Wow having two stories simultaneously deceives me into thinking I'm a regular updater. Reviews again; admittedly a filler chapter, but I figured you'd rather have a taste before the meal than overstuff at a buffet.**

Booth was irked. Again. There was someone in their room. Again. And this someone happened to look like a very real life Yoda, complete with wizened stature, frazzled white hair and bat ears. The tiny woman hummed under her breath as Brennan stoically stared as the ceiling.

"This is ridiculous," she hissed at Booth.

"It's not _my_ fault," he hissed back. Their night together had been agony; neither had slept a wink as Booth rushed to and from the ice machine piling ice around his partner's body and slathering her down with so much lidocane, he was starting to loathe the smell. The morning had dawned bright and early with complimentary room service along with little miss 80 year old shaman who had murmured and hummed her answers and basically flattened Brennan onto the bed before piling copious amounts of leaves from an aloe vera plant to rest on her abdomen. Brennan was gritting her teeth in anger before she gasped in both outraged irritation and the feel of a copious amount of glop plopped on her stomach. She looked down as was immediately nauseated. If she hadn't known better, it looked as if a horse had vomited on her. (Rationally speaking, she knew that horses were unable to regurgitate which resulted in colic.)

"What is _that_?" choked out Booth in disgust, effectively asking Brennan's query. The tiny ancient woman hummed before rubbing the glop around lugubriously with the aloe vera plant leaves. Brennan's eyes slid shut at the wondrous feeling.

"Is a mixture. Very powerful. Banish burn."

"Made of what?" asked Booth, still skeptical.

"Of yogurt, baking soda, face moisturizer, brown sugar, oatmeal, milk and…green tea. With tannin." Brennan's eyes popped open. The old woman's leaf rubbing became more frenzied and Brennan bit her tongue at the discomfort that the tiny flakes of oatmeal and sugar were grinding into her skin. The yogurt and milk combination was starting to fizzle discomfortingly from the baking soda. Brennan huffed a quick breath of pain as the woman began grinding even more forcibly, rushing the rushes about with a frenzied control.

"Hey," said Booth suddenly, staring at Brennan's over bright eyes and taut muscles standing out of her neck, "What are you doing? You're hurting her!"

"Skin is dead," muttered the woman. "Must be gone."

"What? That's crazy. Stop! Stop. That's my partner you're maiming."

"She's right Booth," gasped Brennan, a few tears spilling over her temples running the direction of gravity. "Burned skin is just-" she stopped, panting as she winced, feeling blister after blister split open and the mixture working its way into the open sores. "Skin that's just…dead…ouch…ow…It needs to be…cleared," she gasped.

"What, like dead trees?" snorted Booth sourly. Brennan nodded frantically before she was unable to speak because the tiny woman was now abandoning the leaves in favor for her hands. Brennan couldn't help begin to cry while Booth's heart ripped itself in two at her agony. Brennan was tough. Tougher than half the guys in headquarters, and that was saying something. He gasped in horror as he watched giant swatches of mutilated skin fall from her body.

"Stop!" he said, attempting to shove female Yoda over, but only got a kick in the groin for his troubles as Brennan twitched beneath the hands involuntarily. Booth groaned and doubled over, his eyes never quite leaving the bed. But Brennan's involuntary reactions were slowing and the globule of mixture was dissipating both into her dehydrated skin and in the evaporating baking soda.

"Water," she gasped at Booth and quickly obeying, he snatched up the silver thermos that used to be full of ice which had melted during breakfast.

"NO." The woman barked a command that had Booth frozen, using such a tone that he was forcibly reminded of his military commanders. "Water bad. Very bad. Hurt skin. Skin raw. Watch." Snatching back up the leaves, she quickly unearthed a gigantic hibachi knife that had Booth's throat drying in scared apprehension before she expertly sliced the leaves she had used to spread the mixture. The aloe leaves were flayed and had left traces in Brennan's shallow but weeping wounds. Begging for relief, she sobbed a happy, hitched breath as the disgusting greenish clear goop sopped from the plant stem onto her stomach. Booth was shocked that the leaves could hold so much, watching as the medicine woman poured gram after gram of the moisture out of the plant. Brennan quieted into an almost drowsy apathy as the woman then gently scraped the rest of the wounds clean with her own fingernails and applied more aloe. When she had scraped Brennan's stomach finally clear, Booth gaped.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Brennan's drowsiness immediately fell away and she craned to sit up to stare at what Booth was gawping at.

"Your stomach," he said in awe, "it's so much better." The blisters were not only gone but all remnants of their skin removed. The peeling of her skin and the disgusting burgundy had both been diminished into a more normal reddish burn that even Booth could receive under the sun. It looked as if the old woman had removed hours from her burn, and days of recovery.

"For you," chirruped the woman, forcing at least 20 bags of green tea into his hands. "Make with honey and milk. No water. Then let cool. Refridge. Pour on burns. Will turn brown soon."

"How?" asked Brennan in interest, Booth shot her a glare, hoping this woman would just leave now.

"Tannin," beamed the ancient crone, "tannin good. Make tan." Booth's brow furrowed. This sounded like a joke but had to swallow any response as she took out a broom to sweep up the copious scraps of skin littering the bedroom floor. She made a grunting noise for the sheets too and Booth lifted his partner off the bed. Brennan didn't cry out, only winced a bit and Booth looked down at her face in shock.

"You _are_ better," he grinned. Brennan smiled back.

"Oh I suppose," she shrugged but her face fell as the little woman made a gabbling exit. "But I can't work the case now. I can hardly move."

"You can't even walk," scoffed Booth.

"I think I could probably sit up," sighed Brennan, all of a sudden the sleepless night catching up to her. Booth set her down on the freshly made bed.

"Why don't I turn on a movie for you okay? I have to go work…unfortunately. Or you could sleep."

"Bathroom?" giggled Brennan weakly. "I think I can walk." Unwillingly, Booth levered her upright to her feet but kept his arm wrapped tightly to her body, supporting her first steps. She pushed him away. "I can handle this one alone."

"You sure?" he said seriously, and she saw sincerity shining on his face. "I wouldn't mind."

"I know," she said softly. "I know." She sighed and felt the weight of their relationship hit her. It was both heavy but heavy in a way a blanket was in winter; a good burden, a safe one that sheltered and freed her simultaneously.

"You going to sleep?" asked Booth as she shut the door and he turned to get dressed again as Greg Wiley, bumbling tourist.

"I'm pretty awake," she admitted in a call echoing out of the bathroom through the door. "But I could go for a huge glass of water and…" she nibbled her lip and he heard the toilet flush, "I'm starving." Helping her walk back to the bed which drained her, he tucked her body in within reach of the overflowing ice bucket he had sprinted to get to surprise her while she was occupied. She smiled gratefully when he handed her the phone cradle and a menu for room service.

"Starving is a good sign," he encouraged with a grin. He drew a serious face, gesturing grandly towards the menu. "It's on me darling," he said in a false, gravelly voice. Her nose wrinkled.

"It's on the Bureau." Booth scowled.

"Don't ruin my dream." Brennan shrugged delicately, reclining.

"Bring me one of your button up shirts?" Her request was casual, but he laughed anyways and complied, bringing her the tackiest he could find.

"Booth," she groaned.

"Bones," he scowled. "Put it on."

"Help?" she pursed her lips in distaste for weakness.

"Sure thing slim."

"Slim?" He gently unhooked her bra before guiding her arms through it.

"From old western movies Bones, you know. Slim. The new kid."

"You think I'm a kid?"

"No of course not." He was gently buttoning buttons as if she were an infant.

"So you don't think I'm slim."

"Not like that."

"So I'm fat."

"What?"

"You said I wasn't slim." He knew she was bating him. Self esteem had never been a problem for her and he could hear it bubbling in her voice.

"I could call you whale," he suggested.

"I'm starving," she pouted.

"So what do you want?"

"You," the word was both a whispered confession and a sultry laugh learned from Angela.

"What, you're going to eat me?"

"If I'm a whale does that make you Jonah?"

"What?" He stopped his quick flipping through the hotel television channels in shock.

"I assume as a Catholic you'd understand that Biblical ref-"

"I get it. I just didn't realize that you-"

"Read? I'm very literate. I write best sellers."

They both laughed as Booth finally settled on a channel.

"Remember this one Bones?"

"I think I've seen this," she squinted at the screen as a young man begged a ride from a disquieted, odd-looking young woman.

"You have." His voice was oddly distorted with laughter as he suddenly stood, grabbing his necessities for espionage under guise of tacky tourist.

"What is it?"

"The first Bourne movie." She blushed slightly.

"Oh. Well I'll try to stay awake this time." Booth nodded and kissed her gently goodbye on the cheek. He heard the mute button get pressed before her weakened fingers grasped the lapels of his horrible shirt. Hungrily she kissed him on the mouth, their usually cold delicious kisses turned to fire through her burning lips.

"What was that for?" he whispered, his breath coming fast, heart beating hard, and something else hard as well.

"For all those times we missed," she breathed.

"To all vacations," he recalled with a smile, and mimicked toasting her with a cupped hand.

He kissed her again and then was gone, not quite concealing the imprint of a gun in the small of his back.

Brennan bit down into a sweet pineapple from the gift basket and bit into a sinking worry as well, settling to watch a spy movie while her mind dwelled on her own spy.


	18. Shoot Me Darling

**Chapter 18: Shoot Me Darling**

**So half of this has been finished for days. But after watching episode 100 I got so angry, I couldn't write the other half. Finished it finally and I profusely apologize for the wait. Let me know what you think - the fluff has been shaken.**

"Booth?" Damn. She had fallen asleep again. Although she had successfully watched the entirety of Bourne Identity, she had dozed off during a boxing scene in Million Dollar Baby. A thoroughly depressing movie, it had her furiously steeping tea over her burns just to give her restless, disquieted hands something to do.

Waking in the flickering light of the television, she squinted to peer at the slightly swaying crack between the curtains that led to a secluded balcony: it was dark. She glared blearily at the television screen and realized she was right at the end of the second run through of the movie she had just fallen asleep to. Gasping in horror at the agonizing death that had her seriously questioning her own ethics as an anthropologist, she quickly flipped channels before angrily turning the set off.

There.

There it was again. That sound.

Booth?" she called again. No one answered. With a sinking stomach she knew instinctively was from fear, she tried standing. It left her weak and out of breath just to swing her legs over the side of the bed.

She walked stiffly, once levering herself up, to the bathroom smelling her underarms in a most unladylike manner along the way.

Flipping the overhead shower on that emptied into the sunken tub, she also filled it with both gritty bath salts and aloe vera until the tub was hissing and foaming with the smell of aloe. Still ill at ease, she returned to the bedroom to check her texts to see where Booth was. Her thumb hovered over the letters; he hadn't called, texted or sent any messages with concierge. They were very irritated with her. She had called…a lot. She desperately wanted to start a new message, but she knew that she could blow his cover with single vibration in his pocket. She ground her teeth. She felt so useless.

Her stomach churned. Stupid movie. So depressing. Passing trays of half eaten room service, she flipped the television back on to a music channel. She cranked it loudly so she could hear it from the bathroom. Shedding Booth's shirt and her scanty panties on her way to the bathroom, Brennan let her hair down on the way and picked up some green tea to steep her burns in with the steaming, vaporous scented bubble bath.

Both the music and the cooling tepid water soothed her. Shampooing and floating in a luxury land of bubbles, she was giddy to realize the tannin and her herbal remedy was working. Her limbs looked almost tan instead of scarlet next to the snowy suds she floated amongst.

"Yeah!" she crowed hearing the first few bars of a familiar song floating through her bathroom and weaving between her splayed fingers as she floated in the water. Without consciously realizing it, she began singing along. By the time she was at the chorus, she was no longer humming and swimming around rhythmically; she was rocking out with flimsy garments of suds covering her modesty, air guitarring and belting her and Booth's song at the top of her lungs to reverberate in the marble bathroom.

_I'm hot blooded, check it and see_

_I got a fever of a hundred and three_

_Come on baby, do you do more than dance?_

_I'm hot blooded, hot blooded_

She chuckled, as she realized not too long ago she had felt as if she had a fever of a hundred and three. With a gasp, she slipped but laughed in relief as a hand caught her wrist.

"Booth," she squealed, turning to look at him. "Trust me – you don't want to climb into _this_ bath. I smell like a –" With another, louder gasp, she realized then her complete and utter nudity in midst of a stranger, one who was suddenly clamping a cloth over her mouth, his other hand tightening into bruises on her wrist.

Her last rational thought was that he was using a rag doused in trichloromethane, colloquially dubbed as chloroform, and that it was actually 40 times as sweet as sugar.

She gasped awake and realized immediately she was bound. It wasn't the first time she had been; only this time she was tied to the bed with her legs spread apart. They hadn't bothered tying her arms to the post, they had simply knotted the cord cruelly around her wrists and left them lounging over her head. She was mortified at both her naked red body, stripped of any sheets to cover her modesty and the fact that she had let down her guard on a mission. She twisted her head slowly, afraid of what she would find, her genius mind already speeding through rescue, escape and likelihood of survival at a hundred miles a minute. To her instant relief, she saw Booth next to her on the chair. But her heart plummeted (at least it felt such a way if not literally), through her gut when she realized he was bound and gagged with enough rope to the armchair. Enough rope, in fact, to keep the heavy furniture immobile and Booth helpless. He was awake though, and for one shining moment, she saw the relief in his eyes that she had woken, before shame flooded them and he looked away from her spread-eagled body, her legs spread and primed for what she could only guess.

"Booth," she whispered hoarsely, but he furiously shook his head once over his gag, his eyes burning black with fury. She swallowed her dry throat.

"Hello," leered a man, suddenly looming in her vision, and Brennan's eyes constricted as all the lights were suddenly flipped on, flooding her vision, instead of just the glow dim of the bathroom. She looked around and her heart stopped. And picked up in double time.

There were at least seven to ten men waiting in a line, mostly Japanese or of Asian descent, and she even recognized the irritating man from concierge who had let her burn. She realized it now, as Booth probably already had, that she had been allowed to burn on the beach so darkly it would distract her "husband" from their mission. There was a short scream, and the men pushed something through their ranks. It was the young Ms. Li who was sobbing and naked, covering what she could with the ripped scraps of fabric that had so obviously been torn from her. Brennan's stomach flipped. The blood dripped down the young woman's thighs, giving Brennan a preview of her fate. She heard Booth begin to make grunting noises and thrash against the ropes.

"Shove her there," laughed a tall, blonde man with a cruel twist to his almost nice looking features. Brennan recognized him as the waiter who had served them their piña coladas. Her head spun, and not just from the chloroform.

"You were in charge of the smuggling ring?" she gasped around her dry throat, completely desiccated from the water that had been soaked from her esophagus from the saccharine taste lingering in her mouth.

"Pineapples are the perfect vehicle to smuggle coke in," he sneered, kicking the young sobbing Asian woman towards Booth. "Stay," he spat, and she fell to the floor in a pool of her own dripping blood, leaning in exhaustion against the rope wrapped armchair.

"Why?" coughed Brennan, desperately hoping to keep him talking as long as possible. She couldn't think of anything, but was hoping Booth could use the time she was buying him. She knew her impending gang rape was more to torture him than to harm her. Another man in the line laughed darkly and confirmed her fears.

"Let's get this over with. Then kill her. She's got a big mouth."

"And a big brain," the blonde man snapped, glaring over his shoulder, "Which is why _you_ don't run the operation." He smoothed his clean shaven jaw with a finger. "It's interesting," he mused aloud and fell silent. Brennan knew he was toying with her, but she willingly play along to stall for time.

"What?"

"I didn't realize they would let lovers be partners."

"We're not-" began Brennan, but a stunning blow to her cheek left her whirling and disoriented. Booth's scream of rage around the gag didn't help their case. She felt a small trickle of blood run down a cheek, cut from the ring on the man's finger.

"Don't lie," growled the blonde man. "We know you are. The gift basket…"

"The gift basket," gasped Brennan. "You hid a camera?" she blushed as she remembered her and Booth's first activity.

"We were _so_ very glad you never made it to the bedroom," chuckled the 'concierge' darkly. There was a murmur of approval from the line of men.

"I'm done," the blonde man suddenly snapped. "Here's what you want to know _FBI_," he sneered. "We smuggled the coke and some kid got in the way. Just a punk who had flunked out of college came to work at the shack. He intercepted one of our 'special' shipments. So we shipped him out."

"In pieces," spat Brennan bravely.

"In pieces," said the man with a tone like a lover. It was a sinister and chilling effect that had the men laughing uproariously. With a barked command in Japanese the blonde man thrust his finger at the door.

"I like my privacy. Don't worry boys, I know you all like to 'work' together. In fact, I value your teamwork. I'll leave some for you." Brennan was suddenly panting. She had never been raped. She had come close many times in her line of work and being captured in many countries, but somehow she had managed to avoid it. She didn't want to cry, but she was coming close.

Booth made a gagging sound but Brennan recognized it, against all the odds, as actual words that gave her a bright, shining piece of hope. She let her tears flow freely now, and made sure that while she made the horrified soft whines at her coming agony, she didn't let the panic flood her mind. She didn't want him to gag her but she managed to squirm a few inches higher in the bed and more, real tears of pain fell as her skin shed as it was ripped from her back.

"Where are you going," laughed the man, in a way a clown would laugh at a kids birthday party. "You are pathetic," he threw over his shoulder at Booth, taking his time to peel off his clothes, even his shirt and socks before yanking at the tongue of his belt.

"You don't even have a gun on you. Bad cover FBI. Bad cover." Brennan wasn't sure how Booth had managed to sneak the gun from his lower back into his pants, but she almost laughed at the complete absurdity of it all.

She let out a horrified puff of air as her rapist flung his naked, sweating body on her, his face inches from hers. Terrified, she panted and rooted with her hands behind her head, behind the headboard. She was screaming by the time he began biting her neck viciously, taking the skin between his teeth and simply ripping it away. She was momentarily distracted but finally felt the hook and _wrenched_ forward up in the bed, feeling one of her knees pop from its rotary cuff from her bound ankles which made her scream, but she also managed to avoid the thrust of his narrow, disgusting hips.

"Bitch," snarled the man, taking one of her breasts between his hands and squeezing until just the nipple stood starkly up before he unearthed a knife in a threat. Instead of screaming, Brennan calmly pulled the gun from behind the headboard and held it between his eyes. She dimly could hear Booth cheering.

"Get off," she hissed in a deadly snarl. "And let go." In a desperate panic that confirmed her fears that the leader never met combat without his henchman, he threw himself from the bed. At that very moment, Booth ripped his arms from the armchair, yanking the gag out of his mouth and in one, quick movement, leapt to his numb feet and his gun fell out one of the legs of his khaki shorts.

"You were searched," screeched the blonde man and Brennan, completely confused to how Booth got free, met the scared yet triumphant eyes of tiny Ms. Li, who had slowly sawed through the ropes with a pair of nail clippers lifted from the duffel behind the chair.

"Get away," snapped Booth, but the man's wordless scream of rage had the door banging open as Brennan sat up in bed, feeling her knee twist unnaturally.

"Get under the bed," she said in a low voice, feeling her adrenaline rush intensifying with both the gun in her hands and her near brush with rape. The tiny woman slipped unnoticed in a smear of blood under the bed and crouched with small panting sobs.

The men immediately began mobbing Booth but Brennan, unable to stand, proved a tantalizing target. Three men lay shot within seconds as Brennan carefully aimed for non-fatal targets. Booth had somehow managed to simultaneously knock out two at once before there were screams from the hotel neighbors and the pounding of feet, betraying the struggle in the honeymoon suite to security.

"Covers blown," screamed a man, "move, move, move!" The two remaining men sprinted for the door and Booth managed to knock the three groaning, wounded men who were reaching for their guns unconscious before facing the leader.

"You're coming with me," grunted Booth, his gun trained on his face and the cuffs in his pocket jangling with a dangerous finality.

"Booth!" screamed Brennan, seeing the last man emerge from behind a potted plant. The shot rang out as Booth grunted before clasping a hand to his side. The blonde man managed to swat the gun out of Booth's wavering hand before Brennan's shot rang out without her sentient knowledge. The man behind the plant crumpled; she knew this man, at least, wouldn't be getting up again.

"This is how it's gonna go," laughed the blonde man maniacally, and Brennan saw, to her horror, that he was using Booth as a shield. Booth had both hands clasped to his bleeding wound, and Brennan realized it was because the bullet had hit one of his major organs. Her mouth went dry and she unwaveringly raised her gun again. But the blonde man had chosen a good shield. Both shorter and leaner than Booth, none of his body was presented for a target. "I'm gonna get out the door," laughed the man on edge, "then I'm gonna let your sweetheart crumple and die in the doorway while I make my escape. No one suspects me. I'll walk out the front door as cool as you please."

"I…" started Brennan, but already he was retreating. Booth's eyes caught hers.

"Do it," he said with a forceful voice. It astounded her that he could so clearly read her mind even now. Summoning up the last of his strength, he offered her one more little boy smile. "Come on Bones," he said with a nod. "Do it."

"I love you," she whispered, the tears dripping quickly away from her field of vision.

"Sweet," sneered the voice, heading even closer to the door. "Goodbye my love," he simpered.

"I couldn't have said it better," snarled Brennan and without closing either eye, she carefully aimed and shot within a second.

With a quick, clipped cry, a man fell to the ground.

And his hair wasn't blonde.


	19. Calibonesication

**Chapter 19: Calibonesication**

**I must apologize for not forewarning of the Mature Content in the last chapter because of violence. I'll try to think of that next time. Mild spoilers for Season 5; if you are up to date, nothing to worry about. Look at me! Two updates in one day! (I think it was all the irate reviews I was getting.)**

There was an irritating, persistent beeping noise somewhere above her head. Blinking awake, Brennan stretched unthinkingly before wincing. Her burned skin was feverish, the aloe having worn off. She looked around in confusion. It seemed for a brief, wild moment she had been ensconced in a sea foam green box before her rational brain caught up with her and calmly informed her that she was in a curtained off section of what appeared to be a hospital room. She looked down and was slightly disgusted at the prickling sensation of the IV in the back of her hand. It actually hurt enough to come to her attention over all her other aches. She flipped the covers up, determined not to yet dwell on what she had done. Beneath the flimsy sheeting, one of her legs wore a black knee brace; the doctors had done an excellent job popping it back in place, if her probing fingers were anything to judge by. She was wearing a thin cotton nightgown with the hospital name printed over and over upon it and Brennan was acutely aware at her lack of a bra. Looking around, she struggled to sit up, and there was an immediate yanking of the curtain.

"Sweetie," panted Angela, grasping her hand so tightly, Brennan could feel the metacarpals grinding against one another.

"Ange," she said in puzzlement, "What are you doing here?"

"Where do you think here is Bren?" asked Angela in sudden concern. Craning her head around and seeing only a nicely furbished hospital room and another bed screened in a green curtain, Brennan shrugged.

"We aren't still in Hawaii?" she asked feebly. Angela shook her head, a frown creasing between her eyes.

"After Booth got shot-"

"I shot him," gasped Brennan, remembering.

_"Come on Bones," he said with a nod. "Do it."_

_"I love you," she whispered, the tears dripping quickly away from her field of vision._

_She shot the gun, and Booth fell to the ground, the second bullet hole piercing cleanly through the flesh that layered atop his clavicle and straight into the throat of his assailant. Dead, the blonde man was finally silent; to Brennan's increased screams, so was Booth. Security had rushed in and immediately thrown a hand up to give her some semblance of modesty before the second man threw her a sheet. The first man checked the two prostrate forms, their blood pooling together. Within minutes, Brennan was being cut out of her ties and lifted onto a gurney, only second after her persistent yelling that there was someone more severely injured. With bated breath, she had watched Ms. Li be carted off before her, grey with blood loss, and then Booth, still breathing, but leaving a copious pool of blood behind him from both of his bullet wounds._

"I had to do it Angela," sniffed Brennan, almost unaware of her tears. She brushed them irritably away. "I had to save him."

"You did the right thing," soothed the artist. "One hell of a shot Brennan, it was one hell of a shot."

"Where is he?" she asked immediately and Angela hesitated.

"He's sleeping sweetie." Brennan's eyes immediately flicked to the other ensconced curtain.

"Is that him?" Angela nodded unwillingly.

"Yeah, that's him."

"What's wrong with him?" asked Brennan anxiously, "How come we were flown in?"

"Booth was badly injured. The first bullet pierced one of his kidneys…"

"Does he need a transplant? I will gladly donate-"

"He doesn't need a transplant," soothed Angela, but touched by Brennan's fervent sincerity. "But there was a lot of bleeding and a lot of trauma. They stabilized him and put him on air evacuation; you refused to leave him." Brennan remembered in flashes. _Clinging to his hand, unable to stand herself. Being wrenched away. The screams that she so often had held back ripping from her. They had lifted her into the plane out of her wheelchair._

"Will he be all right? Does he have lasting damage? Kidney damage is –"

"It looks like he'll be fine. Lots of bed rest. In fact, you look worse off than he does. Booth is relatively clean. Except for the two surgeries on his kidney, and the bandage to his shoulder – which the skin should grow back with no problem –" Angela hastened to reassure, "Booth looks pretty normal. But honey, you look…you look pretty bad. I mean your skin. Your stomach. Your knee. Your face…not to mention your lingering black eye. Brennan you're a mess. What did you do?"

"Booth is the hero, not me," Brennan immediately corrected. She remembered something else.

"The young woman? Ms. Li?"

"She's still in Hawaii," nodded Angela. "She was pretty bashed up, but I think it's the emotional trauma that will scar more than anything. She loves you. She sent you flowers already. She says you single handedly saved her life." Brennan immediately and violently shook her head.

"I hardly did anything. Do you have a mirror?"

"Careful Bren," cautioned Angela, pulling out a tiny compact from her purse. Brennan unheedingly snatched the tiny mirror from her friend's compliant fingers. She opened it and marveled at herself, turning her face this way and that for inspection.

Her black eye was faded, mostly a sunrise of yellows and bruised oranges now, but her cheek had a long, ugly gash full of stitches to match the older stitches on her forehead. Her lip was split from the smash to her face and glancing down quickly underneath her shirt collar between her breasts, Brennan realized she was peeling viciously and that tiny white flecks of her skin were littering the covers.

"We got the best plastic surgeon to come look at you. Hodgins arranged it and everything; you're totally covered."

"What?" frowned Brennan, turning her cheek.

"Not even a scar," chirruped Angela falsely, attempting to be sweet for her friend.

"Hodgins did this? Paid for all of this…Angela I-"

"Nah, Dr. B," said Hodgins, suddenly striding in, a baseball cap scrunched tightly in his left hand next to his messenger bag. "Don't worry about it. I got gobs of money too you know. Least I could do. Booth looks good too; his stitches are pretty nasty, but they'll get cleaned up. He'll have a scar, but it won't be as bad as it could have been." He looked hesitantly at Angela.

"Hey you ready to go?" Angela immediately blushed, and Brennan, against all odds, felt herself smile, although it tugged at the stitches in her cheek.

"Angela," nudged Brennan. "What is this?"

"It's nothing," Angela laughed slightly, twirling a finger through a strand of hair. "Just coffee." Brennan smiled radiantly.

"I'm happy for you," she nodded, her love for Booth overflowing into her words and beaming outwards; Angela looked a bit stunned. Apparently Booth _was_ rubbing off on her best friend.

Angela spun around to face Hodgins, a mock little frown on her face, hands on her hips.

"Why are you late? Cam's been waiting in the waiting room for 20 minutes!"

"Why isn't she in here?" asked Brennan in confusion. Angela squeezed her arm gently.

"In Intensive Care, they only let one visitor in at a time who's not family."

"I'm in ICU?" asked Brennan blankly.

"Booth is in ICU," corrected Hodgins, before being on the receiving end of a vicious glare from Angela.

"Even under heavy sedation, you refused to leave him," corroborated Angela. Brennan wasn't sure to be proud of herself or mortified. Angela squeezed a bit harder, immediately reading the struggle.

"It was _good_ Brennan. For you to be with him."

"How long have I been asleep?" Brennan asked. Hodgins leaned forward on his toes.

"Hmmm…I'd say around eight hours or so since you got here. Booth was in surgery while you were under heavy anti-pain medication while the plastic surgeon stitched up your face. I think they knocked you out when you wouldn't stop talking, which made it hard to stitch up your cheek."

"Only eight hours?" blinked Brennan in disbelief. It had all happened so fast. "That's not possible. The flight back would have taken at least that long, if not more against head winds." Angela and Hodgins looked at each other carefully before answering.

"This is the hospital in Santa Monica."

"California?" blinked Brennan, unsure if her brain was functioning properly. "What are we doing here?"

"The closest US territory stateside is LA international," supplied Hodgins.

"Hawaii is technically a state," corrected Brennan absently.

"What Jack means is that the hospital in Hawaii didn't have the instruments to do a surgery as big as Booth's. They had to have transplant kidneys standing by."

"Why are you here? And Cam?"

"And Sweets, and Daisy – although," clarified Hodgins hastily at seeing Brennan's face, "Daisy will never be left in here without her…without Sweets." He seemed to hesitate; Brennan wondered if she had missed something between Ms. Wick and Dr. Sweets while she had been absent.

"We all came to be with you," reiterated Angela. "We couldn't leave you two alone."

"Your work," said Brennan faintly – the most important thing in her mind.

"There are more important things," Angela said firmly, uncannily echoing yet contradicting Brennan's thoughts.

"Plus we'd never get anything done without you two," said Hodgins. "We tried that when Booth came out of his coma and you were in Guatemala. That failed."

"You all came here to be with us?" asked Brennan again, her throat suddenly sore and closing tightly. Angela nodded, squeezing her arm. Out of the corner of her eye, Brennan saw a nurse give Hodgins a dirty look.

"You two better go," she said. "Send Cam in. She'll sit with me. Go – have coffee." Hodgins held out his hand in invitation but Angela deliberately snubbed him.

"We're not there yet bucko," she teased, and they exited side by side, Hodgins' arm drifting up to invisibly guide her out of the hospital.

Brennan suddenly heard a groan. She flipped quickly over to glance at the curtained bed of Booth. There was a thrashing and another groan.

"Booth?" she called, her voice hopeful and yet terrified. "Booth?" He wasn't answering her calls but he grunted.

"No. Stop it. Get off. Get off! Let go!" Brennan realized his nightmares would be haunting him now more than ever and she swung her legs out of bed to run to him. Her feet hit the floor and she had to stifle a sob of pain. She fell to her knees to crawl, his desperation getting worse, before she realized she was hooked up to both an IV and a heart monitor. Yanking both off, she heard the heart monitor flatline and cursed when the blue light above her bed began to go off and an eerie voice began to echo, _Code Blue Third Floor. Code Blue Third Floor._

Whimpering, she frantically scrambled into Booth's area, yanked the curtain away just as a nurse came pelting in.

"What are you doing?" she screamed, realizing the alarm was false. She slapped her hand to a button above the bed just as Brennan managed to lever herself up enough to see Booth's face.

Ashen and grey, he otherwise looked normal despite the obvious agony twisting his features, and the low moans slithering from his clenched jaw.

"Booth," she whispered, and put her hand in his, "Booth." A single tear ran down her jawbone, burning at the stitches before she felt a hand jerk at her collar.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't you dare touch her," snapped a new voice. And Brennan's eyes slid shut of their own accord in complete relief at hearing Cam's furious voice. "What kind of nurse are you?"

"She ripped off her monitor," the nurse whined in a pant, nevertheless prying her fingers off of Brennan's collar and backing away, hands splayed.

"Your patient is crawling on the floor; she could have fallen," Cam said reasonably; but her voice still made Brennan cheer with its ice.

"But…But…"

"I want to talk to your superior. Tell them Dr. Soroyan is asking to see her medical attending." With a hiss of rage, the fifty something year old nurse fled before a woman 15 years her junior.

"Cam," said Brennan, relief coloring her voice so strongly, Cam was surprised she didn't cry. "Booth-"

"Is going to be fine Dr. Brennan."

"Brennan," she corrected. Cam blinked. She had always called her Dr. Brennan, even if she was technically her superior.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not Dr. Brennan today," laughed Brennan, but it sounded like a sob. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The scientist got sidelined." She echoed a sentiment Booth had once told her in the face of her father's trial.

"All right then," smiled Cam, her cheeks dimpling both in flattery and confusion. "Do you need a hand up?"

"That would be nice," conceded Brennan. Cam lifted Brennan's arm around her shoulders, but just sat her on the edge of Booth's bed. His breathing was more regular, but his hand still tightly clutched hers, even in sleep. Cam's eyes snagged on it, but she said nothing. Instead, she forced her eyes to read his chart.

"Nightmare?" she guessed, reading his heart monitor output.

"He has nightmares," nodded Brennan.

"I remember," sighed Cam. Brennan looked down.

"Cam…do you ever…_regret_…"

"Letting him go?" Cam looked up at the ceiling. "Oh God, sometimes I think I do. But mostly…" she trailed off, but Brennan waited in silence. "But we were so similar," she shook her head. "We were always fighting when we were together. It's so much better to be friends and just _be_ friends, without anything more complicated clouding it. I mean, he's a gun in bed," Brennan laughed brokenly. "But…" Cam shrugged helplessly. "But we both knew from the beginning what we had. I loved him. Love him. But I was never _in_ love with him." Brennan nodded in sudden relief.

"I don't know what I…" she began, but Cam laughed.

"Oh on this one I definitely am your superior Brennan. I claim one of my free passes to flout your flouting of my authority. You're in love with him. He's in love with you. Everyone knew except maybe you two." She shrugged and smirked at her little rhyme.

"The ironic thing is," laughed Brennan, actually cheered by the other woman's candidness, "is that we both knew but just never told the other." They laughed together until they saw his eyelids flutter awake.

"Is this heaven?" he grunted, and their laughter stopped, their eyes exchanging a long, scared glance.

"Nope," Cam said finally. "Just a forensic pathologist with a dark sense of humor and a very battered forensic anthropologist."

"Oh, well, I just thought it was because I woke up to two beautiful women holding my hands and laughing sexily. My bad, guess I mistook you for angels." His voice was cheeky, mocking, and his smug little grin grew into one of creamy satisfaction as their faces became shocked and then they laughed.

"Booth," Brennan said with a groan, swatting him. He grabbed her hand in his again, his face suddenly serious, his dark eyes roving hers.

"You look horrible," he said blatantly. "Damn Bren, if this keeps happening every time we go someplace, you're gonna look like Frankenstein."

"I assume you mean Frankenstein's monster, as Dr. Frankenstein was simply a macabre protagonist invented by Mary Shelley as a means to explore ostracism and the taboos-" she was interrupted by both his exasperated eye roll and the striding, sure footed steps of a doctor. Cam immediately stood.

"I hear we had a Code Blue," smiled the doctor, an inordinately handsome man. Typical, for California, Cam smirked.

"A false alarm," she soothed instantly. "Dr- I mean, Brennan here simply fell out of bed."

"And ripped the IV out of her hand?" asked the doctor politely, with a raised eyebrow.

"It was hurting," said Brennan with a straight face. "As a forensic anthropologist, I am perfectly able to remove an IV."

"What," scoffed Booth, "even _I_ can remove an IV. You just yank it out." The doctor pressed his lips together.

"That's what she said," he muttered under his breath. Cam raised an eyebrow.

"I beg to contradict...she would never say that." The doctor laughed before calming enough to turn to Booth and assume a professional air.

"It's nice to see you awake sir. My name is Dr. Jacobi, and I'll be your doctor throughout your recovery."

"How long do I have to stay in this getup anyhow?" frowned Booth, tugging at the irritating wires taped to his EEG's and the bothersome tube of the IV. He squirmed a little in embarrassment upon realizing he was wearing a catheter.

"You should remain in Intensive Care for at least twenty four hours," advised the doctor, "Then we'll move you downstairs to-"

"Wait a minute," said Booth in irritation. "You mean I gotta _stay_? At the hospital? I can go home. I feel fiiiiiahhhhhne." He tried moving and immediately gasped at the tearing pain through his lower left back.

"You'll be in intense pain for probably about two weeks before it will fade slowly."

"Gee thanks for the honesty," groaned Booth.

"I appreciate his honesty," interrupted Brennan honestly. Booth glared at her and Dr. Jacobi continued.

"You should remain in the hospital for at least one and you'll be dosed on morphine. We'll send you home with some opiates and have you check up every once in a while. We do suggest that you do not fly-"

"Well how are we supposed to get him home?" asked Cam, irked.

"Wait what?" Booth frowned, "Fly? Bones, where are we?" She leaned over and whispered in his ear.

"No shit?" he asked her. "California?" She nodded the affirmative. He grinned like a little kid.

"Can I still go to Disney Land?" Cam rolled her eyes.

"We'll keep an eye on them. Do you have any problems with them driving home?" The doctor shrugged.

"Hell of a road trip, but I suppose if you rented a big enough car…I shouldn't see why in eight days or so the stitches would have been enforced by new skin growth enough to survive a stable trip."

"I'll drive him," Brennan offered. Cam looked at her.

"Brennan, your knee." Brennan looked down in surprise.

"It was only a dislocation. It will be stiff approximately-"

"Four to six days," chimed both Cam, Booth and the doctor drolly.

"They are medical professionals Booth," she said in astonishment, "I can understand how _they _would know-"

"Sports injury Bones," groaned Booth, "Jeez, how many times do I have to tell you that I was an athlete?"

"I will consent to a road trip," muttered Brennan, "but _only_ if Sweets and Daisy get their own car."

"Oh man, Sweets is here? Damn." Booth muttered. "I bet he just _loves _the idea of being able to ask us all the questions he wants without us being able to run away."

"_Actually_," Cam corrected, "None of us have much seen Sweets. Since he's gotten engaged to Daisy, they've been going at it like rabbits." Dr. Jacobi, who was checking Booth's vitals, coughed discreetly into a hand.

"Sweets and Daisy are engaged?" asked Booth, "Good for him. Man, where's champagne when you need it?"

"You can't drink Booth," said Brennan, scandalized. Booth frowned sourly.

"This sucks," he grunted.

"Oh," said Cam with a sweet smile. "Wait about eight days for a 40 hour car trip. We'll see how much you hate being here with all the pudding you want."

Booth's little boy grin suddenly wreathed his face in smiles and he cocked a head.

"There's pudding?"


	20. The Fifth Wheel

**Chapter 20: The Fifth Wheel**

**So sorry - so, so, sorry that this took so long. It has been growing exponentially and I have much more planned so it's not a shortage of ideas. The next two weeks will also be sparse - I'll try to get another chapter or two out - but after that, expect more regular posts! As always, I love reviews like Brennan loves Booth, but unlike her, am not afraid to confess that love.**

Brennan tilted her head against the seat and tried to sleep, mimicking Cam's posture a row ahead of her. The sun was glaring in her eyes, and Booth was drooling against her shoulder. The previous eight days had been hell. Once Booth had awoken, a nurse had come in to dose him with morphine. His seven days in bed with Brennan sitting beside him and their friends circling in and out with different kinds of food had consisted primarily of two things. One, Booth had not stopped laughing. He would laugh at a joke made by wry Hodgins, sly Cam or even blatant and dry Brennan. He would laugh at sad things confessed to him (that were promptly forgotten in his drug induced haze) and he would laugh at jokes far too long, which threatened to unravel his fragile stitches. Although Brennan had both been amused and slightly irked whenever she had tried to speak with Booth about some things troubling her mind, she had not minded the laughter. It was the second one that was worse.

For eight days and nights, Booth had been proposing.

His drug induced ramblings often included fragments of his fever dream, reinforcing what Brennan had feared all along. That Booth only loved her because she had tricked him into it. Perhaps she had even tampered with his long term memory. At first trying to hide his symptoms, Brennan found she couldn't contain or avoid every single slip or outburst Booth made. It had been Sweets' turn to sit with them, much to Brennan's surliness, and they had been munching on the gourmet pizza he had brought.

"I love pizza," moaned Booth theatrically around this mouthful. "It's like pie that's not full of fruit. In fact it's called a pizza pie. Wow…pie…" he stopped chewing dreamily while Brennan laughed a little and Sweets replied,

"I still believe, Agent Booth, that your attempt to get Dr. Brennan to eat pie is a sort of seduction."

"I don't need pie to seduce her," drawled Booth, to Brennan's mortification since Sweets was unaware of their new relationship, "I got something that tastes better." There was an awkward silence while Booth rolled his eyes that were fogged full of morphine. "I _meant_ I bake a mean cake." Both Sweets and Brennan dissolved into giggles.

"You cook Booth?" asked Brennan in astonishment. Booth nodded fervently.

"No. Not at all." More laughing.

"Can you even bake a cake?" asked Sweets, thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Out of a box," nodded Booth solemnly. He trailed off. "Box…" His eyes flipped to Brennan. "Box!" he crowed. "Damn it Bren, I forgot to buy you a wedding ring. We'll have to go to the store after we finish this pizza." Sweet's laughter abruptly cut off.

"Excuse me?" he said carefully. Booth nodded energetically.

"That's the love of my life sittin' there Sweets." Panicked, Sweets quickly glanced at Dr. Brennan, worried that Booth had completely blown his true feelings under the guise of heavy medication. He wanted to kick himself; he should have seen that coming and kept them separated.

Brennan's face, instead of blanching milk white as he had expected, was slightly mournful, and Sweets knew immediately that this wasn't the first time Booth had proposed. Dragging her arm away from the bed he leaned in and hissed,

"How long has he been like this?"

"Like the coma dream?" she whispered back heatedly. She wasn't sure why she wanted Sweets to reassure her it was the morphine ramblings of a coma dream; probably because she so desperately wanted him to hurt her, to cut her soul up in little shreds because there was no way she was allowed to be this happy. Not with Booth, not with anyone. Being this happy meant that something bad was going to happen, that the other shoe was going to drop. First her parents, then Russ, then her work, then her lovers…Booth was all she had left, and being in bliss with him was so unnaturally joyful that Brennan hated it. She hated realizing that she was so untrusting, that she was so ready for it to be a sham, so she could go back to what she knew and finally trust the ways of the world before this man came along and turned it upside down. She loved Booth heart and soul, but she wasn't naïve enough to ever believe he could love her. That was one layer he didn't know. Couldn't know. She wasn't worth loving; not by him, not by anybody. She knew that lesson painfully well.

"I _meant_ proposing, confessing love, that sort of stuff!" Brennan blinked, nonplussed.

"You mean before or after he was shot in the kidney?" Sweets' eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

"What! He told you!"

"You knew?" Brennan immediately choked out.

"Of course I knew," sputtered Sweets. "I'm his _therapist_."

"It's not therapy!" called out Booth from the bed and Brennan and Sweets exchanged a guilty look.

"He told you?" Brennan could feel the little frown settling between her eyes, and she didn't want her eyes to begin swimming but they did of their own accord. She stared hard at the obscenely fair skin between Sweets' eyes without blinking to help regain composure. Sweets immediately backed down, upset that he had upset her.

"Dr. Brennan-" he began awkwardly, "Booth came to me with questions after the coma-"

"He should have come to me," she interrupted, a tad angrily. "I know him better than anyone. Certainly better than you." She left the edge in her tone, still disquieted.

"While I agree," prevaricated Sweets, "the questions were admittedly about you…"

"I know," she admitted quietly. Sweets gasped.

"You know?" She nodded affirmation.

"You know he's in love with you? No offense Dr. Brennan, but that is wicked cruel. I mean letting him go on thinking-"

"What do you mean?" she frowned clinically.

"I mean, leading him on into believing that you-"

"That I what?" she asked patiently, but her eyes narrowed further.

"I mean, you – I thought that, well, you wouldn't admit that you-"

"That I what?"

"That you…" stammered the young psychologist.

"Love him?" finished Brennan. Sweets' jaw dropped to the floor. He scrambled to regain composure.

"But in our sessions, you adamantly claimed you didn't believe in love." Brennan shrugged.

"That was true." She left it simple, and aggravating.

"But-" mouthed Sweets, gawping aimlessly.

"But," prompted Brennan, "Booth was different. He's my partner. We're partners. Nothing can change that. We'll always be together." Her heart suddenly faltered, then picked up in double time. "Nothing can change that right?" Sweets stared at her.

"Do you want the truth?" he winced. She blinked at him in confusion.

"I always want the truth."

"Booth said you had a mania," nodded Sweets.

"It's not a mania," hissed Brennan, irked, "Mania – Latin for _madness_, often used to describe the feats of Greek heroes-"

"Dr. Brennan," interrupted Sweets. "I'm trying to say…I don't know." Brennan took a deep breath beneath her tightly crossed arms.

"What does that mean?" Sweets uncrossed his own arms and pulled finger fulls of curly dark hair through his knuckles.

"I don't know means I don't know! I have to study how this development in your relationship affects your work. I have to clear you fit for duty. I have to make sure nothing will change. I have to make sure…my God what if you get married? Or have chil-"

"Sweets!" exclaimed Brennan. "It hasn't come to marriage. We only began to be engaged in sexual intercourse a week ago." That shut Sweets up before he erupted.

"You had _sex?_ How many times?" Brennan blushed and shrugged.

"How many times have you had intercourse with Daisy?" Sweets suddenly cleared his throat.

"Oh…I..ah…see your point." Sweets blinked. "But you…you two are now…in a relationship?"

"We were always in a relationship," she snapped back. Sweets leveled a look at her, and she knew what he meant, poor at non verbal communication or not, his glare was about as subtle as a freight train.

"It just happened," she shrugged. "Last Thursday or so." Sweets' eyebrows raised.

"We should discuss at length how to better ascertain-"

"Sweets! What are you telling Bones? I want my partner back – I need her!" With a sigh of gratitude, Brennan ducked around Sweets and flitted back to Booth's bedside only to groan. He had somehow unhooked his St. Christopher's medal and kept one medallion on the chain around his neck, and the other clutched between his thumb and forefinger.

"Will you take this?" he begged her, his little boy's smile wreathing his face in grins; Brennan's heart hitched and skipped a beat. It was probably the best proposal he could have thought of, even when not on drugs.

"Booth," she whispered painfully and he dropped a puppy dog look on her.

"Please Bones, just this once. Just keep it so I know that you love me." She hesitated, before gently lifting the medallion from between his fingers. He caught her hand in his and kissed it slowly. Brennan blushed at how quickly his heart rate sped up according to the monitors, and how hers so immediately responded. She quickly became irritated at Sweets' smug little face across from her and went to shove the St. Christopher's medal in her pocket.

"No." Booth stopped her by leaning forward suddenly before he winced in agony. Immediately chastised, Brennan froze and let him catch his breath to speak.

"Wear it," he wheezed and she obediently complied, hooking it to the necklace she had on until it hung glinting a scant few inches above her breasts. Seemingly appeased, Booth sank back into his pillows and fell asleep.

It hadn't taken Sweets long to tell the others with his big mouth, but only Angela gave her much flack…and Daisy, whom Brennan preferred not to dwell on. Instead, most of the others just took it for granted; Brennan was happy they didn't all assume (unlike Angela, whom she knew meant well regardless) that she and Booth were _actually_ engaged. She only wore the medallion to keep him at ease and to finally stop him from embarrassingly proposing at inopportune moments.

However, Booth's frequent use of her new nickname of "Bren," which only Angela had previously called her, both unnerved and flattered her. She was convinced he was living in some sort of his previous fantasy world and knew that when he came down from his drifting high that he wouldn't remember anything that had occurred. She would slip the medallion back into his pocket, and all would be righted once more.

However, that wasn't how it occurred. When they had finally been given leave to sign Booth out of the hospital, he seemed genuinely happy with himself that he had thought to give her the medallion.

"Keep it," he had urged her, when she attempted to give it back.

"Booth," she hesitated, unhappy with his seeming delusions. Booth leveled a glare at her which was somewhat tampered by his limping to a wheelchair to be wheeled to the minivan Hodgins was much too excited to drive.

"Bones," his voice was serious. "We're partners; St. Christopher protects travelers and we're both injured - traveling cross country in a car…" his voice dropped to a whisper, "with _Angela_. And the whole Squint Squad!" Brennan dissolved into laughter. He always knew how to diffuse a situation.

"Well, when you put it like that," she sighed. Her brow furrowed. "You do know that in Ireland, which was Celtic, Saint Patrick was actually a missionary sent to stop pagan worship by integrating many Celtic beliefs with Catholocism such as the triquetra which symbolized Maiden, Mother, Ancient Crone into-"

"The Holy Trininty," grunted Booth, sliding open the van door with a heave. Brennan's jaw dropped as Cam shook her head disparagingly and attempted to help drag Booth's arm into the van. "I got it," he snapped at her. "I'm not 80."

"You're acting like it," Cam retorted, her eyes sparkling with humor. "Come on Booth, step up and be a man."

"Camille," he seethed through his teeth, dragging himself with a groan into the very back bench seat and settled against it panting. "Stop babying me." Angela flounced up.

"Shotgun!" she crowed and Hodgins looked immediately satisfied that he would be sitting next to his previous lover…and not so previous love for the next 40 hours.

"Dr. Brennan – I mean," Cam hesitated again and stumbled slightly over her name, "Brennan – I assume you'd like to ride in the back with Booth?"

"He doesn't have much upper body strength or core; it would be an egregious error to let him flop around." Cam wanted to laugh, but instead compressed her lips tightly together at Brennan still clinging to a scrap of dignity and denial.

"Flop around?" panted Booth, opening his eyes, scoffing. "Flop around! What am I a trout?"

"Trout –" Brennan began but Hodgins cut her off eagerly.

"Trout are amazing. When I go camping I love-"

"_You_ camp Hodgins?" laughed Angela, swinging herself into the van's front seat. "I pegged you more for a chalet in the woods or ski resort kind of guy." Brennan opened her mouth to question Booth again about his knowledge of Celtic melding of Catholocism, but was interrupted again by Hodgins and finally conceded defeat.

"I didn't say I don't bring the necessities," said Hodgins in a low rumble. "You know…like body _heat_…" the two shared a smoldering look that Cam wanted to scream at but instead turned away, acutely feeling like the proverbial third wheel…fifth wheel in a double pairing. She had often felt the odd man out, long before Brennan and Booth had ever admitted their relationship.

"Seeley," she ordered in a steely tone, climbing next to him in the back and gripping his shoulder. "Turn over. Let me have a look at your stitches."

"Camille," he groaned, "Don't call me Seeley."

"Don't call me Camille," she laughed. It sounded false and Booth noticed, giving her a searching glance that she quickly deflected by yanking his shirt up over his gorgeous body and gently unsticking the gauze over his back left hip.

"Does this hurt?" she asked quietly, gently probing with her perfectly manicured but short nails; she couldn't be having long nails when she was literally up to her elbows in corpse gore day by day. Maggots did not play well with nail polish.

"Camille," he said softly, "Cam…" she laughed, quickly shook her head, eyes overbright as she realized that she was trapped in a car with two budding families, and retreated.

"Brennan, get in here." Brennan climbed warily into the van, seemingly ignorant of what a mini van even was. Cam had the satisfaction of Booth's concerned gaze roving her own body searching for non verbal cues which she hid expertly with her training as an officer, and instead watched his eyes light with the fire he reserved for one person and one woman alone. He had held that light in his eyes for almost four years since she had come to join his little "Squint Squad" but now it was untamed and unshielded, like a candle whose cover had been lifted away.

Brennan noticed Booth's grey face and quickly buckled herself in a seat away from him on the bench seat.

"Hey," frowned Booth, upset at her distance.

"You look tired," she informed him haughtily, glancing out the window. "I know if I sit next to you, all you'll do is bug me."

"Interesting," said a new voice, and all five of them stopped their respective conversations to see Sweets' overly large curly head poking into the van, a bright grin wreathing his face. "That's very interesting."

"Don't say it like that," chorused Booth and Angela simultaneously. They blinked and looked at each other, both blushing thinking Sweets had been commenting on them.

"That's interesting," chortled Sweets at the new development. Cam rolled her eyes.

"Okay brilliant Dr. Sweets, we give you a prize for vague and irritating statements. Hodgins will be driving," she immediately got down to business, moderating her tone; she didn't need both Booth and Sweets on her stupid nostalgic trail. She was probably about to start her period, which would explain her introspection and persistent irritability at her friends absolutely every day behavior. "Just follow the van."

"Do we get to name it?" chirped Hodgins excitedly. He pretended to snap driving goggles over his face. "The bug mobile. Driven by the bug and slime guy."

"Ew," Angela crinkled her nose. Hodgins turned unbelievably blue eyes on her, and Angela saw them dilate widely as they always did when he looked at her. Although she was used to the reaction from men, when Hodgins did it it was both excessively flattering and unnerving.

"We could name it something else," he assured her hurriedly, watching her carefully styled hair slip silkily over her skin. He yanked his eyes to her face but got stuck on her mouth. Angela looked shyly down; shy only when Hodgins was looking at her.

"Not the bug mobile," she said with a sarcastic edge, and the mood broke as she had hoped it would. She twisted in her seat, but no one else had seemed to notice their lingering moment. She desperately wished Brennan was more of a girl, so she would be able to ask if that was how she felt when she was talking to Booth. _Hell_, she thought in awe_, Hodgins and I were talking about _bugs_ for God's sake._

"Daisy and I will be right behind you," beamed Sweets.

"Don't crash _head_ long," smiled Booth, his face like a cat in cream. Sweets blushed dully and Cam high fived him over the seat. Both Angela and Hodgins missed the moment and were confused at Cam and Booth's chuckling. Brennan blinked.

"I don't know what that means," she said blankly but her face dawned as she turned excitedly to Booth. "Oh! Do you mean Sweets will be receiving fellatio from…"

"Oh my God," Angela squawked, suddenly very in the conversation, "What are you guys talking about?"

"Nothing," said Sweets hastily, still a dull red. He pulled his head out from the car quickly. "I'm going to get in my car now." Laughter echoed after his footsteps.

"You're right Bones," yawned Booth suddenly. "I am tired." Surprised but feeling no pleasure at being correct Brennan nodded.

"I figured as much. Your medicat- Booth!" Expecting him to lean tiredly against the window, she jumped when he dropped like a felled tree and instead rested his head in her lap. Angela grinned wickedly.

"So many jokes…so little time."

"Can I sleep here?" asked Booth innocently, his face pressing against her stomach as he turned his eyes up to meet hers. Blushing slightly Brennan shrugged.

"If you're comfortable."

"Oh yeah," yawned Booth in exaggeration, patting her stomach. "This is _very_ comforta- hey!" Brennan had swatted him.

"Booth," she fumed.

"You're the one who loves donuts," he grinned up at her.

"You ate eight and a half cups of pudding today," Brennan informed him. His face scowled but his eyes didn't.

"I would have eaten nine, but you ate half of the last chocolate."

Feeling a little sick at their adorableness, Cam leaned forward to talk to Angela through eye signals. She then noticed she and Hodgins were laughing about their last vacation.

"Remember when the heat went out?" snorted Hodgins. "And we were completely snowed in?"

"It wasn't even like the apartment was furnished," laughed Angela, "there was only an end table and a couch."

"So we made a mattress of couch cushions and-"

"You hacked up the end table by bludgeoning it to death with one of the legs?" finished Angela.

"Then we lit it on fire," nodded Hodgins.

"In the fireplace!" protested Angela. "It's not like we had electricity…it was the least we could do. Plus, I got very hungry."

"Me too," said Hodgins in a dark, seductive tone. Angela giggled and blushed like a young girl in love, instead of the woman she was.

"That bed out of musty old couch cushions while we watched the legs of the end table burn…" she sighed. "That was probably the most romantic thing I've ever done."

"More romantic than Shark Island with Grayson?" She nodded fervently. Hodgins' eyes twinkled. "More than our first date on the swing set?" Angela smiled helplessly.

"Yes," she confessed, twirling her heavy beaded necklace around her fingers.

"More romantic than the glowing shrimp?" Angela hummed.

"Tie," she said decisively. The both blinked at Cam suddenly leaning forward. They both laughed a little in embarrassment, and both wondered how long she had been there.

"Yeah Cam?" asked Angela. Cam shook her head quickly.

"I was thinking about riding with Sweets because…" she cast around for a reason but was saved the trouble by Hodgins.

"Ugh so you could be with the newly engaged couple while they made smoochy faces at each other?" Cam's wide eyes suddenly recalled the presence of Daisy, who grated on her last nerve more than anyone Cam had ever met.

"Oh you are so wise Dr. Hodgins," she said quickly and leaned back. Booth and Bones were talking quietly, Booth's face laughing into Brennan's thighs, causing her to laugh breathlessly as his hot breath fanned against her skin.

Cam instead pulled out her phone to text Michelle only to remember she was at Perry's house, probably doing similar cuddling with her own boyfriend. Cam felt a flash of irritation. _How is it that my 16 year old daughter is doing better than I am? _Instead, she leaned back and tried to close her eyes.

"Cam," whispered Brennan, leaning forward. "Do you have anything to eat?" Cam refrained from the flippant comment that she could devour Booth, but shook her head.

"I'm starving," sighed Hodgins, Angela agreed and Cam stubbornly folded her arms.

"I'm fed up….I mean full up." She sighed and closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

It was going to be a long drive to DC.


	21. Broken Hearts, Broken Homes

**Chapter 21: Broken Hearts, Broken Homes**

**Okay - so originally the story was **_**only**_** supposed to be the second half...but what kind of man would Booth be then without noticing Cam? **_**Then**_** I was all like - oh that's enough...next thing I know it's 10 pages. Single spaced. el oh el. Oh, and M for use of strong language near the end; sorry for tender ears/eyes. Enjoy and feast you gluttons. Also...thanking the host for this magnificent buffet is as easy as clicking a button. Literally.**

Brennan was now sleeping soundly against Booth's shoulder; he was awake, as was Cam who was finally taking a turn driving. No one sat shotgun; Angela and Hodgins were slumbering peacefully snuggled against each other for warmth in the row of seats ahead of Booth. Cam didn't speak; she couldn't see him over the dull glow of headlights glaring in her mirror as they sped down the highway at 5 in the morning; they had stopped briefly at several gas stations and even a restaurant in which the five stopped and Sweets and Daisy joined them for dinner. It had been pleasant and entertaining as hell, but Booth had been watching one of his oldest friends; something was eating Cam up, and he wanted to know. Yet as much as he yearned to ask her, he also knew she enjoyed her tough cop appearance and would loathe him if he confronted her in front of the others. He wouldn't put it past her to castrate him...even if she only took one, nice enough to leave him functional. But he couldn't speak to her since they had basically been locked in a car together since 11 pm the day before, and it had been 18 hours of non-stop Squint Squad. Booth was happy but also exhausted. He just wanted to take Brennan to bed, lay down and sleep for a year until he was well and truly awake. And then maybe spend the next year waking up next to her and living in bed with her for the next year after that.

He leaned his head up against the window next to his ear, and sweating slightly under Brennan's dead weight, gently levered her face until it was laying on the seat beside him and she was laying down, stretched comfortably out. He quickly checked the stitches on her face to make sure they wouldn't be rubbed. Cam had, in Santa Monica, already removed those from her forehead. Now Cam started and Booth froze, unsure if she was about to speak, but she seemed to take his movement for that of a sleeper. He did not speak and neither did she. She just sighed loudly, irritably. Booth frowned; her knuckles shone whitely against the steering wheel. He hadn't realized she was this upset. Or this furious.

If he knew Camille, her tears were hard wired straight into her frustration matrix; the more stressful a situation became, the cooler and more level headed she got. That's what made her a great cop; the more she failed personally, the more emotional, angry and snappy she got towards the rest of the world. In many respects, she was just like a man with her emotions. Typical for her not to say a word until she was completely alone with everyone else "asleep." Booth idly wondered how Sweets was faring, or if it was Daisy's turn to drive. He knew that the next day, Daisy and Sweets would be acquiring new drivers with Angela and Hodgins taking a shift in their car. Interestingly enough, Cam had not volunteered, which was unlike her in Booth's opinion. He had figured it as Cam and Daisy being trapped in a car for hours on end was past her tolerance level. Instead, now he was wondering if it could possibly be worse than how she looked right now and realized it was more likely Sweets, as a trained psychologist, whom she was avoiding. As the car treads hummed and the windows quickly flashed by the lights on the road, filling the car with racing pools of silvery light and dark, darting shadows, he realized her face was clenched, jaw set, and tears glittering.

Cam never cried. Although Booth had been mostly watching Brennan at his fake funeral, he had also been startled to realize that Angela was the only one who had wept for him.

The shuddery but irked breath she drew finally made him speak.

"Cam," his voice was soft, low and he saw her wide, startled eyes flash to his as she suddenly stamped the brake, breaking their speed by a good 20 miles per hour.

"Seeley!" she gasped and quickly slapped a hand to her cheeks, removing all traces from her flawless latte skin. She ignored him for a moment and took the nearest exit. Booth knew her. He unbuckled his seatbelt in preparation. When she ground the van to a halt in a parking lot, he – with as little noise as possible given his stiff legged, back stabbing pain- opened the van door and climbed into the front seat, first making sure Brennan was comfortable.

Cam irritably motioned towards his seatbelt before thrashing her way out of her own and quickly running into the mini mart with a sleepy looking cashier. She came out with two steaming cups of coffee. Neither looking at him nor speaking, Cam gently turned the van back onto the highway into the glimmering grey of dawn.

"How's the night shift been?" he asked quietly, after several minutes of tense silence and Cam's jaw clenching as he knew his so often did.

She shrugged, completely blasé, and gave him a tight-lipped smile that was as signature to her as his little boy's grin was to him. "It's been quiet. Uneventful. Lot's of time to…" she trailed off and hid her smile behind her coffee. Booth knew it was both to forcibly stop her from speaking and to try to disguise how false that smile looked on her face.

"Time to think?" finished Booth softly. She nodded.

"Yep. Lots of time to think." They said nothing further as they drove along, and Booth felt his stomach tighten as it always did when he knew something was wrong and it was slowly creeping out, taking its own sweet time.

"You thinking about Michelle?" he guessed, staring hard at the road. He treated Cam as he would treat Hodgins; guys shared their friendships side by side, and girls shared them face to face. Cam wasn't any better with her own emotion than Brennan, simply better at other peoples.

"Nope," she said with a tight shake of her head. Her hand drifted towards the radio, and Booth recognized the signature deflect as a token way of saying how much she didn't want to talk about it. If he remembered from Sweets' sessions correctly, that was known as "hitting resistance" psychologically speaking. He glanced over at her but her brown eyes were focused on the mirror, and on the reflection of the sleeping forms of Angela and Hodgins. Her hand fell limply away, not wanting to wake them. Irritated, she threw Booth a glance that clearly belied she regretted that he was awake.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked sardonically, and her voice came out a little testier than she liked. Booth ignored the tone and continued staring at the scenery ahead.

"Where are we?" he asked instead, noncommittally.

"Almost to El Paso," Cam nodded at a passing flash of a green highway sign.

"Almost?" asked Booth with a raised eyebrow.

"About an hour away," she clarified. "Angela says she's going to drive once we reach Amarillo; we'll stop for breakfast there and maybe instead I'll drive Sweets' car with Hodgins and Angela, and those two can come take a turn here.

"That's not reasonable," he frowned. "They only have 2 shifters, and you guys have three people driving. Plus Brennan," his voice warmed imperceptibly, "keeps begging me to drive."

"I know," smiled Cam tightly, "I can hear her."

"What I'm saying is that you shouldn't drive two shifts in a row," shrugged Booth reasonably. "And in that case, it doesn't matter what car you ride in, you should get some sleep." His eyes narrowed and he began his descent as a hawk diving on prey. "Why do you want to drive two shifts? Or switch cars?"

"I don't," she protested, rankled. "I was simply suggesting-"

"Is it me and Brennan that bother you?" queried Booth shrewdly. Her eyes flew to his face, round and huge and he blinked, confused, sure he had hit the nail on the head and that she was jealous. It seemed to be a swing and a miss on his part, and his heavy handed hammer came squarely down on his own thumb with immediate regret of his accusation.

"No!" she exclaimed, "Not at all, Seeley how could you even think that?" Booth shook his head as if to clear his ears of water. He then remembered it was Cam he first went to with questions about his feelings for Brennan; she had given him invaluable advice, and he had respected it.

"So it's not us?" he clarified, and she shook her head vehemently.

"No, it's not you-" she hesitated as if she were going to say something, but stopped.

"But it is something," pressed Booth, "in this car."

"No." Defensive now.

"It's not Angela or Hodgins."

"No."

"It's not any of us?" She was silent before she repeated her newfound phrase.

"No." But this no was shakier.

"It is us then."

"Not like that," she amended and Booth stalked that down, chasing the rabbit that Cam became in the face of heart to heart chats.

"Your bothered by us as a group?" But Booth's epiphany came with her boring her burning glare into the asphalt in the early morning light. "Us as couples?"

Her quick, hard head shake, although it said no, quickly affirmed _yes_. Booth sat quietly.

"_And_ Daisy and Sweets," he realized out loud.

"Oh, I know," laughed Cam, but he could hear the presence of frustration overwhelming her, eating her inside, and with that her hard wired tears.

"You're surrounded by people…" he said, but didn't want to finish. She finished for him around her cup of coffee. Booth sipped at his, but upon offering his cup to her, she snatched it from his grasp and quickly used it too, to shield her face.

"In love," she finished for him. He stared at the road, at a loss.

"Oh."

"Yep."

"That sucks."

"Yep."

"Awkward?"

"Oh yeah."

"Does it bother you we're together?"

"Nope."

"But it bothers you that you're alone?" She didn't answer this time, and Booth quickly glanced over. She was shaking and he rushed to take the rattling cup from her grasp.

"I'm an exceptional catch," she said instead.

"You are." Fervent.

"But I'm alone."

"You have Michelle."

"But not Andrew."

"You have your sister."

"She's getting married."

"Felicia?"

"Yep."

"Nuh uh."

"Yep."

"How-" Booth ran his fingers through his hair in shock. "No way."

"Yep. Found a hell of a guy to put up with her."

"Everyone is growing up," Booth laughed feeling his throat close.

"Even Jared," she smiled. Booth scowled in return.

"Even Jared….and Felicia." They both scowled at the road instead.

"And Russ," added Cam a moment later, eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Sweets."

"Good thing Angela and Hodgins are only children," nodded Cam.

"Angela and Hodgins," reiterated Booth, and her face soured.

"Everyone around us," she said disgustedly. He didn't augment her statement and her eyes slid closed for a brief millisecond as she realized what she had said. "You were drugged," she amended.

"I would though," he admitted.

"I know."

"I know you do."

"You okay?"

"I _would_, you know. If she would have me."

"One day." Booth nodded glumly, but brightened as he saw a bright future glimmering.

"One day." Silence.

"I don't really want to ride with Sweets," Cam confessed. Booth burst out laughing and couldn't moderate his voice before Hodgins groaned awake. The two in the front looked guiltily back. He glanced at his shoulder; Angela's real face was slumbering against his tattooed face of her, only a scrap of sleeve separating them. His face broke into a sleepy smile as he glanced up.

"How far?" he grated out.

"Half an hour," soothed Cam and Hodgins lay his head back to doze comfortably. Booth nodded at her. This time her hand decisively punched the radio with the volume turned low.

There wasn't any talking after that.

25 hours later and Brennan was finally taking her shift at driving. It was approaching nine in the morning and they were trolling their way through the beautiful countryside of West Virginia. She enjoyed the rolling hills, and knowing she was only six hours from Maryland. Watching the countryside wave breezily by, she listened to the idle chatter of Daisy and Sweets behind them. Booth was riding shotgun, a scowl on his face that Cam, Angela and Hodgins had abandoned them to a little ride in hell with the newly engaged.

Brennan was mostly peeved with Daisy's constant begging of the opinion of her idol in a conversation Brennan studiously did not listen to, but was dragged into every five minutes.

She glanced over at Booth as she turned from the countryside, and took the exit. She would be forced to drive on a regular road in order to cross the several miles to the next adjacent highway that would take them straight to DC. The houses were sweet here, and little, but Booth was exhausted and his Vicadin was wearing off again; he had slept soundly through the night, but since their driving shift had changed around 7:30 in the morning, he had been unable to fall back asleep and instead leaned against the window, dreaming of getting the gun from the trunk and mercifully putting the two lovebirds into the heaven they dreamed of. Then of course, his thought became regret tinged for thinking so viciously, which dragged him into the dark spiral he had come to ignore; that of warfare.

The things he had done were cruel and without exception, against ethics. But war was a selfish time, and he wasn't sure how selfish it was to want to stay alive more than anything else. He ground his teeth; regardless of his opinion of war and of politics, his comrades were out there in combat busting their asses and "finding themselves" a hell of a lot sooner than most young men and women. Booth flounced in his seat, trying to squash away what he had done…what he had been through.

He knew Brennan wanted to talk, but damn if he was going to say anything else incriminating in front of Sweets. He was 90% sure that whatever Sweets was writing in his little "journal" was about their behavior. He wasn't going to give him fuel for the fire until he was sure where Sweets stood.

He wasn't sure he wasn't still imagining things until the van had slid several houses past.

"Stop!" he screamed suddenly and Brennan slammed the brake on, screeching to a stop in a most irrational manner. Booth was scrabbling at the door handle before he knew his fingers were moving; disregarding his pain, he almost fell from the car, darting past the shocked faces of the car behind them, Angela driving, and Hodgins and Cam's stunned, open mouths staring out at him. He raced up a green lawn and pushed open the door to a rundown little house with a literal white picket fence.

Brennan was running after him, knee stiff, before either Sweets or Daisy could gather themselves enough to unbuckle and dart out the van's sliding door. The other occupants likewise tore out of the second car to follow Booth's seemingly mental insanity.

"Booth," called Cam desperately, as he was yards ahead of them, "You can't just open-" but it was too late. Booth had turned the knob to the front of the house and slipped inside. The other five of them, not including Brennan, stopped uneasily on the grass.

"What is he doing?" muttered Angela and Sweets' usually untroubled face was puckered.

Brennan, unheeding of their momentary aimless milling, walked directly through the front door after him. She caught the last movement of him downing a Vicadin dry as he suddenly dropped to kneel in the middle of a big, empty room that looked to have once been a family room. She hardly noticed as she moved cautiously closer to what he was fervently kneeling before and staring at as the other five filtered in.

Angela, Hodgins, Cam, Sweets and Daisy all stopped in the doorway to the den to look around them. The interior of the little whitewashed vine covered cottage had thick but cheap looking rafters criss-crossing the ceiling, actually ensconcing the room and making it feel smaller. There were two average sized windows; one had a heat crack over the old fashioned but unused radiator. There was an old dresser table in a far corner nailed haphazardly together of antiqued wood; it looked cheap, as if picked up at a furniture store or a garage sale. The previous occupant had obviously left it behind. The walls were a dull non-color; a beige, tan, grey or white.

The dust lay thickly over everything. Over the walls, the crown molding, the old dresser. Over the photograph frames that had toppled over on the flat surface of the table, over the little brick fireplace without a grating. It coated the windows grimily until the outside world swam in fog and glinted off the milk white spider webs where generations had lived untouched and unharmed.

"Agent Booth," began Sweets awkwardly, but stopped when he saw Brennan's face when she glimpsed what he was kneeling, shoulders slumped, in front of. He had the look of a man kneeling at a grave.

"Booth," she whispered and clutched his arm, sinking down beside him. The other five shuffled forward, but Daisy hung back with Angela and Hodgins as Cam and Sweets, after an unspoken conversation, moved forward in synchronization.

"What is this place?" Cam's voice was low, as if she tread on hallowed ground, her footsteps and high heeled boots leaving funny marks on the dusty wooden floorboards. It had been a modestly nice house…once upon a time.

"This was my mother's house," said Booth quietly, and looked up at her. Cam felt her heart clench in agony.

"Booth," she said in a pained whisper; Brennan said nothing. Sweets' eyes almost crossed with his frown of vexation.

"That's wicked stressful," he nodded. "This house? I thought you grew up in Philadelphia."

"I did." Booth's voice was empty, hollow. Brennan had heard that hollowness, but Sweets never had. He backed away a step in confusion, unsure of how to treat a man whose genuine warmth and grandiose heart were his most memorable character traits. Now they lay as dusty and littered as the cracked picture frame between his knees.

Cam touched his shoulder, expecting him to flinch. His cold, tense muscles were almost worse.

"His mother," she offered Sweets quietly, "moved away-"

"She left Camille," he said in the same dead tone and nudged the picture beneath him. A woman, her arms around a six or seven year old boy and holding an infant was in the picture, smiling behind broken glass, as if it had fell or been kicked there.

"Is that you?" asked Sweets in both awe and understanding; Parker's face beamed at them.

"That's me," Booth nodded dully, "and Jared."

"Where's your mother now?" a timid voice called from across the room. Daisy came forward gently, her big but misguided heart melting.

"She's dead," echoed both Cam and Brennan as they spoke simultaneously. The two women shared a look over Booth's head, almost identical to the one as they had shared ten days before in the hospital. Brennan idly wondered if Cam would be allowed to keep her job; they had been in California for an entire week, and on the road trip for three. Brennan wasn't sure how kindly the Jeffersonian would look on all of them picking up their lives, leaving their job as a team, and just waltzing back in. She knew they would take her back at the very least; she was the best of the best.

All of them backed away, Sweets drawing Brennan by the arm, knowing that in this case, Booth needed to be alone with the memories.

"What should we do?" breathed Angela under her breath. "He doesn't look like he's moving." Cam nodded.

"I'll talk to him." With Angela now taking hold of Brennan's arm, the peanut gallery watched as Cam made her way to Booth and dropped into a crouch with a pointed glare at them all. Hodgins quickly ushered the rest of them outside, where they sat on the grass.

"Booth." Cam only spoke a word. He didn't look at her. She continued on regardless. "Booth I know what this is like." He shook his head once, violently.

Numb.

"Okay, I lied," sighed Cam, she scooted around to face him, her signature smile on her face. "Do you remember when you woke up a couple of days ago? After kidney surgery?"

A curt nod.

"Do you know what me and Brennan were talking about?" Eyes widened imperceptibly. "That's right," she laughed a little. "I was telling her about when we were together." Eyes turned to her own black ones, and her ebony ones were shining. "I love you," she confessed quietly, and suddenly harsher, more finite pain flashed across his face, shuddering through his body. She nodded, letting him feel something for once.

"I'm not _in _love with you," she clarified, and he relaxed so much, she wasn't sure he would remain kneeling. "I never fell in love with you Seeley." Her dark eyes were serious and overbright. "But I love you. I don't know anyone else like you and sometimes I wonder if that's a horrible reflection on my part that…that I'm not good enough for you. That I'm not really good enough for anyone."

"Camille," he grated and his voice sounded rusty from overuse.

"I'm serious Booth," she said, and a single tear fell. She brushed it away before he could raise a finger and make her cry more. "I'm just saying…regardless of what happened to you and all that psychology Sweets is so in love with…" Her dark eyes softened. "I was a cop. 70% of abused children don't become abusive adults. People who were abandoned don't always turn out broken." She shrugged. "Or if they do…there's people like me who aren't even whole enough to love them." Booth's knuckles tightened.

"Get up," she begged, but he shook his head.

"I can't," he said in defeat. "I just…let me rest." She stood, unnerved and backed slowly away.

"You know if I leave someone else will-"

"Come in and try…I know. I love you too…but I agree. We were never in love." With a quick, tight lipped smile, Cam fled, her boots clicking solidly against the floor.

Coming outside into the sunlight, they immediately besieged her. She threw up her hands and shrugged, trying to hide her overfull eyes.

"Go Sweets," she gestured. "Someone go. He wouldn't listen."

Reluctantly, and exchanging glances Sweets stood and slouched inside; his sunlit gaze having to adjust to the musty room, and a dejected man kneeling.

"Age- Booth…" Sweets didn't kneel. He paced.

Silence reigned as Sperrys hit the floor over and over.

"I don't know what to say," he finally confessed, throwing a glance as he crossed his arms. "You don't want to hear any psychoanalysis I'm guessing." Booth glowered. "Right," said Sweets, nodding. "But as a friend…I got nothing man. Seriously except…" Sweets trailed off, and for the first time Booth looked at him full on.

"Except?" he dragged out unwillingly in his harsh voice. Sweets stopped pacing and instead stared out a cracked window, arms tightly folded.

"Except my parents died. Within weeks of each other." He cast a glance back.

"I know Dr. Wyatt told you. You don't have to pretend."

"He was looking out for you."

"I know." Sweets took a breath. "But before that…my mom left too. Ran…the skin hanging off her arms." Sweets laughed shakily, as if laughing would make it go away. Booth stared hard; his mahogany eyes feasting on the soul of a young man, old at just 25 years young.

"I mean, I was six years old…and all I can remember about my real birth mom – other than what I found out as an adult that she worked as a psychic…" his voice was sardonic, a tone Booth had never heard from their little imprinted duckling. "All I can remember is the skin hanging off her arms like sleeves. How sicko is that right?" He answered his own question. "Totally sick."

He was quiet. "But my real mom…Mrs. Sweets, I mean…died of," he cleared his throat, "of cancer. Breast cancer. My dad died of liver failure…right after. Weeks. I didn't find him…thank God." He stopped, face tight, emotions running a mile a minute across them like storm clouds racing across the sun.

"So I get it... both the abandonment…and the death." Without any leave taking, Sweets turned on his heel and simply walked from the house, unsure of why he felt like crying. Once he got outside, he took Daisy's hand and towed her away from the group.

Hodgins stood awkwardly.

"I guess that's my cue," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He sauntered in the house. Seeing Booth, his heart picked up double time.

He simply stared at him.

"What the fuck man?" Hodgins suddenly yelled; unsure of why his anger was burning so hotly but had suddenly caught fire. It was as if his normal reservoir of oil, holding onto his anger, had suddenly had a match dropped into it. Hodgins looked as surprised as Booth, whose eyes flew to Hodgins' angry and wild gesticulations.

"I mean, what is this shit? You get it on with Dr. Brennan; you go to fucking Hawaii – you get shot like a fucking hero, you laugh through recovery and now you're going to just give the fuck up because you are fucking lonely about something that happened a million years ago! I mean, what the fuck. You have it all together. You _always_ have it all together. And you think my life is so perfect? That I'm retarded because I have all these gobs of money just _laying_ around? That I have loving parents? I came from a great background? Well fuck you!" Hodgins jumped up in the air angrily.

"Fuck you! I mean, come on man! Don't you realize what you have? You have Brennan as your partner. As your _best_ friend. You have us. You have Cam. You have a _son_. A good looking son and a great job. Your career is skyrocketing. So you're not rich well whoop de fucking doo. Money can't buy happiness because I stare at happiness every fucking day as she walks through my door. And then she leaves, her perfume behind her and I know it's the one I got her. Six grand it cost. And it's because I loved her." Hodgins voice and anger broke simultaneously.

"Love her. I'm going to be in love with Angela until I die. And I can't do anything about it. And your kneeling in the middle of a deserted childhood home when you've got everything going for you." Hodgins voice dropped and he punched his fist into the air with a grunt before his shoulders sagged and he too, looked out the window.

"And if you can't make it…Man, I sure as hell can't." He was silent so long, Booth finally had to look at him, breaking the guy code of friendships being side to side. Hodgins was leaning, eyes closed, against a wall. He looked as tired as Booth felt. He finally cracked a cerulean eye and glared at Booth suspiciously.

"So are you going to get up?" Booth shrugged noncommittally.

"I'll have to eventually."

"But not right now."

"Mmm…no probably not."

"So that great speech was for nothing?" Booth made a wincing face.

"Eeeh…" Hodgins laughed cynically.

"Great." He strode for the door.

"Hodgins." Hodgins turned around, his face bitter.

"You forgot to mention Zack."

"And Zack."

"You also forgot Wendell."

"And Wendell." He turned to go, more defeated than when he arrived.

"Hodgins?"

"Yeah man?"

"You forgot to mention you're pretty kick ass."

"Seriously?"

"Well…you're not me…" Hodgins laughed.

Passing Angela, Hodgins ignored her and went to lean against the van, squinting in the sunlight, his muscles shaking for a fight...for anything to let loose his frustration and his everyday agony he carried with him.

Angela glanced at Hodgins before she furiously scrambled to her feet besides Brennan.

"This is ridiculous," she fumed. She stormed into see Booth.

"Hi," she greeted him, standing in front of him, glaring down, and chastising him with one finger.

"I don't want to cry," she ticked it off on her first finger, "Or scream," a second finger tick, "or tell you my life story. I don't want to talk about your mom. Or talk about your pain. Or ask you about war. I just want to _remind_ you," she seethed viciously, but her tone was doing Booth some good, "that you have a beautiful, broken hearted woman out there, who's anxiously awaiting for you to stand up again. For you to not leave her." Angela suddenly threaded her fingers into the collar of his shirt and yanked his face towards hers, their breath mingling.

"You better not leave her," she hissed, "Or Hodgins won't be the only one running from my dad." Booth blinked and Angela was suddenly gone as if she had never stood before him and threatened him. He could hear her ranting on the grass outside. It was silent - finally silent - as he stared at the broken picture frame.

Outside the 5 coalesced and watched apprehensively as Brennan walked serenely through the front door. They shuffled past her and watched as she bent at the waist. It took her less than ten whispered words in Booth's ear before he was gazing at her with blind devotion and love. She took his hand and guided him to his feet; he came up as easily as a breath of air on a mountaintop. He followed her out of the house as if in a dream and back to the car. The peanut gallery watched, stunned, as they left the front door open.

And the picture still on the ground.


	22. In Which Scooby Doo Cues The Chase Music

**Chapter 22: In Which Scooby Doo Cues The Chase Music**

**As always, this grew over a couple days on my computer. HA! I knew I could provoke interest with what she said; I almost didn't tell you. But of course...I did...eventually. Have fun! Review.**

Sweets noticed it first, being a trained psychologist and all. Brennan had been hovering away from the group, even within the van; Cam had rejoined the party and left Hodgins and Angela – by the looks of it that Sweets could see in his rearview mirror above the steering wheel – having an intensely personal conversation. Brennan had been muttering into her phone for almost two hours now, and had insisted, quite vocally, that they all stop for lunch and no one would care if they arrived a little late back in DC.

Her phone calls had been mostly to strangers, that's all he could tell over Daisy's chatter in her high voice and Cam leaning backward in Sweets' field of vision to talk animatedly with Booth. Brennan often prefaced her calls with a "My name is Dr. Temperance Brennan," and speaking in a clinically professional tone. Sweets blinked.

"I'm sorry Daisy what was that?"

"I _said_ Lance," she frowned, "that you missed IHOP. We passed one two blocks ago."

"Oh," he said blankly, and he looked back right as Brennan covered the edge of her phone with a hand and nodded conspiratorially at Booth. He nodded back once, a little grin lighting his otherwise somber face; a face that hadn't been lost on anyone, except maybe oblivious Daisy.

"Is IHOP okay Agent Booth? Dr. Brennan?"

"Yeah, I gotta take a leak," groaned Booth, stretching and wincing simultaneously as he pulled at his stitches. "Ugh, I'm _sore_ from being cramped in this car."

"You shouldn't arch like that Seeley," chided Cam, "we've been over this. You'll pull something."

"How's my face?" Brennan asked worriedly to Booth, turning it for inspection. In truth, the several days in the car had completely erased her black eye. There was mild yellow bruising under one eyebrow, but no one could tell. A thin scratch on her forehead in a crescent was all the damage left from Booth's accidental clubbing. Her fat lip had also faded away to a mere weal similar to a cold sore but her stitches from the ring to the face were still starkly black. Booth took the question seriously thought, his eyes dark as he roamed her face.

"Perfect," he sighed.

"Booth," she rolled her eyes and he caught himself in the reflection of Sweets' overly amused gaze.

"I mean," he cleared his throat, "your stitches look pretty good. The rest of your face is healing up pretty…pretty nice."

Cam scratched her jaw and declined to mention she had just felt her purse hum with the vibration of a new text. Much to her astonishment several minutes after Booth's breakdown and incidentally her own, she had received a text from Dr. Lidner asking for a lunch date. When he had heard she was on a road trip, it was all Cam could do from laughing aloud as he sent her outrageous text after outrageous text trying to make her do just that.

Sweets swung the van into a u-turn watching in amusement as Angela and Hodgins neglected to follow them for another half block until they too, turned around. He pulled into the parking space with adept ease.

"Okay, IHOP in the middle of West Virginia. This should be fascinating," he began, "A complete subculture of-"

"Ice cream!" squealed his fiancé. "Oh Lance, let's split a banana split. Get it? Split the split?"

"Help me out here Bones," moaned Booth and she quickly jumped from the vehicle to thread his arm through his as he leaned heavily on her.

"You okay there big guy?" panted Hodgins as he and Angela likewise sprang from their car. "Do you want me to get the wheelchair?"

"No…"moaned Booth, but his moan became a groan of pain and he stumbled. Six people stumbled forward to help him.

"You should really use the wheelchair Booth," said Cam seriously, "and that's my professional opinion."

"You're a coroner," he shot back.

"Who went through med school," she dimpled, knowing her smile would irk him more than her temper. He scowled furiously.

"I'm not an _invalid_," he whispered heatedly, realizing they were drawing stares from passersby as Hodgins kicked open the folding wheelchair from the trunk of the sedan he and Angela had been driving.

"Here man, no shame in getting a new set of wheels."

"Well when you put it that way," grumbled Booth, and Brennan bent at the knees as she helped him sit.

"I feel stupid," he muttered darkly.

"You look ridiculously handsome even stupid," said Angela winking charmingly at him. He had to smile.

"Well you look especially nice to day Angela," he smiled back. She rolled her eyes.

"Ugh this outfit that I threw on in a gas station bathroom this morning? No way." Her big teeth flashed, "but I appreciate the compliment." Brennan frowned.

"How come I don't get a compliment?" she scoffed.

"Or me?" mocked Hodgins, moving to push Booth up the ramp.

"I…I got it," Brennan said edgily.

"Sure thing Dr. B," Hodgins shrugged, letting her take the handles. "If you can."

"I'm very strong," she said, "from karate practice."

"Also flexible," grunted Booth as she propelled him forward.

"Booth," she hissed beneath her breath, but they were saved for no one had heard them over the triumphant return of a frolicking Daisy.

Despite Brennan's best efforts, and while she was tall, Booth was six foot two and much heavier. With a great yell, he rolled right past her.

"I'm going to roll in to traffic!" he growled, flipping her off as he pretended to coast, hands behind his head, legs crossed.

"Booth!" shrieked the Squints as one, but Booth held up a hand.

"Guys, chill out." He expertly squeaked to a stop with a three sixty using one hand to brake the wheel. Popping a wheelie, he vigorously pumped his strong arms and rolled right back to them, screeching to a stop.

"Where did you learn to do that?" asked Daisy, wide eyed with awe.

"Eh-" shrugged Booth, "Just an old army buddy of mine he-" he trailed off. Brennan nodded.

"I met him I think," and Booth nodded.

"Yeah, that's right. I remember."

"He got hurt," she finished for him.

"Yeah." There was an awkward silence.

"That still doesn't explain your mad skills in a wheelchair-" began Sweets eagerly and Booth's face lit up with his little boy's grin.

"Oh yeah, well an old army buddy of mine – he let our unit play with his wheelchair – taught us a couple of party tricks and whatnot. Come on guys, I am more than capable of wheeling myself in."

An hour later, after a giant stack of pancakes, all of them were sitting at the booth comfortably. Angela sat next to the window, Hodgins tucked tightly next to her, and Cam next to him. The engaged couple sat across from them and Brennan sat next to Booth in a borrowed chair form another table at the end of the booth.

Brennan's phone was on the table, strategically placed next to Angela's rental car keys; it buzzed once and Brennan grabbed it, along with the car keys, as if by accident. Everyone at the table stopped conversing and looked up in shock and Booth's face broke into a smile.

"This is army ranger sniper," he crowed in a radio announcer voice, "operation Scooby Doo is a go." Brennan sprang up and grabbing the handles of Booth's wheelchair spun him around laughingly and sprinted away, pushing him as fast as they could go, leaving a group of stunned people.

"GO GO GO!" cried Booth loudly and heroically.

Immediately, Sweets and Cam, being on the end, sprang up and Brennan looked back as Booth swung open the IHOP doors.

"The chase is on!" she cried to him and Booth began rapping out some chase music.

"Hurry Daphne!" he crowed and even though Brennan was breathless with laughter as she tried to simultaneously sprint and point at the sedan with the car keys trying to unlock it, she still exclaimed,

"I don't want to be Daphne! Velma is the smart one!"

"Velma's not hot," retorted Booth, yanking open the car door's passenger side and levering himself in as quickly as he was able. Brennan couldn't respond as she ran around to the driver's side as the rest of their group rushed out, Hodgins having to pay awkwardly at the podium while the others chased them, laughingly, before Sweets realized that Booth had the keys to the van in his pocket so they couldn't follow.

Brennan screeched the sedan from its parking place while gesturing for Booth to put on his seatbelt. The wheelchair rolled half-heartedly in the middle of the street and for a moment they were too breathless with laughter watching Angela dramatically chasing it in the rearview mirror to speak.

"Well who are you then Booth?" Brennan retorted, as she expertly wove through the West Virginia streets, having memorized their destination and receiving a text from an automated website telling her when the streets were clearest. "Are you Fred?"

"Fred?" scoffed Booth, "Fred? Do I look like a fashionista to you?"

"A what?"

"My point is that Fred cared more about his hair than Daphne! Plus, my hair isn't blonde. And I _wasn't_ in a fraternity."

"I don't recall that any of them ever went to college-"

"That's not the point Bones! The point is that I'm not the type."

"You're saying you aren't blonde…"

"Exactly!"

"You have brown hair."

"I am aware of that."

"So you are Shaggy?"

"NO! Do I look like a dead head muncher to you?"

"I don't know what that means."

"I'm not Shaggy," frowned Booth. "How could you even think-"

"There's no more characters Booth!" exclaimed Brennan. "You have to be _someone_."

"I'm Scooby!" he exclaimed, insulted that she hadn't guessed that first. "Duh," he added peevishly. Brennan laughed.

"Booth…"

"Bones…" he teased back. She laughed again.

There was silence for a moment.

"There's a Tom Thumb," she mused and he nodded. She took that as his approval and pulled the car into a space.

"Do you think they're mad at us?" asked Booth. Brennan shrugged.

"Probably just confused." She glanced over at Booth who was opening the door. "What are you doing?"

"Getting out," he blinked, as if stating the obvious.

"Just because we played up your pain for the wheelchair so the escape would be possible does _not_ mean you should walk more than you have to. You should save your strength Booth." He scowled.

"Wait here," she said quickly and jumped from the car and locked him in. Furiously he banged on the window until she guiltily cracked her door open to talk to him. He made a puppy face at her.

"What? You're not going to crack the window for your dog?" Laughing, she did as he asked.

"Have fun Scooby," she waggled her eyebrows at him and disappeared into the grocery store.

Brennan was a little nonplussed to realize that 10 minutes later her total was over $100. It only made sense really. The helpful baggage clerk loaded the gigantic cookie cake, bouquet of flowers, picnic blanket, 2 liters of diet soda, a Smart Water for her, a carton of plastic forks, some strawberries because they were her favorite, a bottle of $50 wine and other necessities for a road trip.

"Would you like help out today?" he practically panted. Brennan stared past him.

"No thank you," she said distantly, frowning at Booth through the glass automatic doors. She missed the flash of acute disappointment on the clerk's face.

"Jeez, Bones, I'm burning up in here!" moaned Booth through the cracked window as soon as she got back. In chagrin she realized it had gotten rather stuffy in the car.

"Easy Booth," she laughed, opening the door and starting the car. "I got you sheeted."

"It's I got you _covered – _SODA!" Gleefully, Booth grabbed the 2-liter Diet Coke from between her hands and glugged part of it down.

"Easy Booth," Brennan repeated, swatting at the bottom as she started the car and began the air conditioning. She checked her phone. It had been on silent; it read that there were 6 missed calls. She smiled smugly and turned back into traffic.

"What in the world did you_ get_?" asked Booth, unearthing a plastic wine glass.

"Picnic," she replied nonchalantly.

"This _wine_," choked Booth, "it's…"

"My favorite," she finished for him.

"Bones this is…"

"Well," she shrugged. "You do it for me all the time." His voice and face softened in to a wistful smile.

"So you _do_ notice."

"Of course," she replied, stung.

"Is it because you love me?" Brennan hesitated, never at peace with her feelings.

"Booth," she began awkwardly, but Booth saved her from a confession; he knew Brennan would never be able to spout off 'I love you' like a normal person.

"I love me too," he beamed at her, and she laughed, the tension fleeing in a rush.

"You're shameless."

"Proud of it too," mumbled Booth as he held the forks between his teeth while rifling in the bag.

"Cookie cake!" he exclaimed gleefully.

"You're ruining the surprise!" she scoffed, attempting to snatch the bag from him.

"Watch the road!" he screeched.

"I'm an excellent driver!" she shouted.

"That was our turn!" he retaliated.

"You were distracting me!"

"You suck!"

"You're _such _a child!"

"Well fine, no wine for you."

"Give me a strawberry." Her tone was surly. With a cheeky grin, he popped the lid of the container and one into his own mouth. She swiped at the plastic.

"Stop eating them all," she whined, "those are my favorite."

"You want one?"

"Yes," she said impatiently, holding out a hand.

"Both hands on the wheel!" he barked.

"Booth!"

"I'm serious! Or no strawberries." She glowered furiously behind her sunglasses. A strawberry suddenly appeared in her vision, bobbing and weaving as his fingers held it by the leaves. She viciously tried to bite it from his grasp and he snatched it gleefully away.

"No biting," he taunted.

"Booth!"

"Bones, I'm serious…no biting…" she blushed furiously.

"You're disgusting. Get your mind out of the gutter."

"The gutter? The gutter? Bones my mind has lived there since I hit puberty."

"Men," she muttered, and made a upset strangled sound as he popped the strawberry into his mouth.

"What was that?" he mumbled around it, the juice dripping down his chin.

"That was my strawberry!"

"Want another one?" She nodded obstinately. "You going to bite me?" She shook her head obediently. A strawberry crept into her vision. Meekly she opened her mouth and he let the tip descend between her lips, tickling her with it but not quite letting her bite it. Her mouth was watering with the smell of it; her face was flushed with embarrassment, her body with lust.

"Booth," she whispered, and he slipped half of the soft red flesh into her mouth where she bit the strawberry in half. Like him, some of the juice ran from the corner. Before she could reach up and wipe it away, he had swiped it gently from her cheek…with his tongue.

She jumped in surprise.

"I've been in a car with the Squints, and surrounded by them for near on ten days now. Don't tell me you've missed this."

"It's all so new…" she said faintly, but her mouth was watering for more.

"You mean so fast?" Like clockwork he read beneath her surface. Instead of answering she opened her mouth a little wider. He obligingly twisted off the green and fed her the rest.

"Perfect timing," she laughed, after swallowing the sweet fruit. And Booth sobered up. "Don't be sad," she added quietly. "That's what the cookie cake is for."

Booth looked straight ahead but for once Brennan knew what he was going to ask.

"How did you know exactly what to say to make me get up?" She shrugged self consciously.

"It's what you would have said to me." Booth closed his eyes briefly and then opened his car door; they had been stationary for two minutes.

"You're right Bones," he said cheerfully. "I met your mother…guess it's time to meet mine."

Together they wound along the little footpath of the cemetery; Booth limping but insisting that he carry the wine.

It matched what Brennan had whispered.

_I'll take you to her_.

And she had.

With strawberries to boot.


	23. Of Love and Death

**Chapter 23: Of Love and Death**

**As usual, this was half done for days but I couldn't seem to motivate myself to finish it until Booth's speech came to haunt me. However, I was very **_**very**_** irked at the Season 5 finale so I couldn't even look at this story for a while. **

Brennan usually thought of everything, but this was ridiculous. She had asked where Booth's mother was buried, but she hadn't asked _where_ as in lot, space or headstone. At first the both of them had been slightly awkward, Booth's breath bated in anticipation, glued to the words that passed beneath their feet. Brennan understood; it was how she had felt the first time Angela had taken her to see her own mother. She had covered that unpleasant gut wrenching feeling better with her best friend than when Booth had taken her to ask her mother about what kind of man her father was. With Angela she had managed to play coldly indifferent, but with Booth, the emotion had spilled over. She knew what it was like for him; to be quivering on the inside, so thrumming with energy she almost worried he would collapse.

Yet as the minutes crept on, and they began wandering with less of a purpose and more just among the flat titled stones, Brennan's arms ached from holding the heavy bag of groceries and she could tell Booth was having trouble walking. She felt like an idiot for not thinking it through.

"We could sit," she offered. Booth shrugged and she could tell that the strain of the drugs wearing off was also reducing the high strung expectation.

"In a minute," he answered. She nodded in understanding. They walked quietly and Booth wondered at the peacefulness of the cemetery. His partner was so completely at ease with the dead he never worried whether she felt as if she were disturbing someone or not. But he had expected walking through a cemetery would be…creepy. So many people he knew were dead. So many people he had killed lay peacefully next to people he had lost. The equality scored at his heart, causing it to ache in realization that in death, all slumbered together, and if this were so, in life, all lived apart.

Yet the more time he spent among gravestones, the more tranquil he became, grinning and watching in amusement as Brennan eventually popped off her uncomfortable shoes to carry them. The pain ate at him in a dull ache, but the rolling motion of walking was soothing. _Graveyards are peaceful, _he mused, idly reading the names scrolling by, no longer anxious. They had been walking for close to an hour. Hundreds of graves lay in the green area; maybe thousands. Yet he didn't feel troubled or rushed; his mother had been dead for a while, his mouth twisted into Brennan's favorite crooked grin, she could wait an hour or so more.

Brennan was watching him covertly; he could feel it. She worried constantly about him; he could feel that too. His mind drifted to darting among the gravestones with his partner. About declaring his love for her in a graveyard. He chuckled softly and she joined in.

"What?" she asked and when his burning eyes turned to her, her face melted in a helpless smile. "Oh."

"That was a perfect day," twinkled Booth solemnly.

"Ice cream and alcohol," she laughed back. Her face darkened a fraction when she saw him stumble and over his complaints she finally and forcefully caught the upper part of his arm. "We're going to sit down now. Stay." She commanded and found a nice area that was mostly un-plotted. Spreading the blanket and checking that she wasn't about to sit on anyone (which hardly bothered her, but she knew how superstitious Booth could be), Brennan laid out the picnic and discreetly took out Booth's painkillers. Pouring him a Diet Coke and herself a water, she mocked toasted him as an invitation for him to stagger over and practically collapse. She slapped the pills into his hand. It wasn't a request. Without words, he acknowledged that and downed them dutifully.

She could tell when they began to take effect; the first ten minutes were mostly quiet, both of them mulling and Brennan serving some of the food. Booth lay flat on his back. Brennan fought the urge to feed him. He was not an infant.

Booth, in turn, was horrified to feel himself getting obsequiously drowsy, regardless that Brennan refused to pour the wine until they both found his mother's grave and his painkillers and somewhat dimmed their overpowering effect. Booth was grouchy; he knew what a stick in the mud Bones could be. She would hardly pour him a thimble full.

"Bones," he said quietly, and he dropped a strawberry into his own mouth. She looked over.

"Why do you like strawberries so much?" She didn't have to be a mind reader to know he had changed his query at the last second. She chewed thoughtfully; doing the thing she always did with sticky foods that drove Booth mad with desire, though he felt perverted and always declined to mention it. Twisting her middle finger to her lips, she nibbled on the sensitive skin there, thinking.

"My mother loved strawberries," she said at last.

"Like mother like daughter," Booth nodded, fighting to listen to her voice, to stay awake. They were in a graveyard for God's sake.

"I was more like my dad," she confessed, drawing her knees to her chest. Booth knew that was her signal for she didn't want to talk about it. Booth was of a different opinion. Want to or not, Brennan needed to talk about it.

"You are like your dad because you're reasonable." He didn't state it as a question. She shrugged and began to pick at a hangnail on her middle finger.

"I guess." Booth frowned, groggy still but struggled to sit up. She immediately protested. "You should lay down Booth." He waved her off but felt his muscles being uncooperative as the Vicadin took effect. She pulled him towards her and he compromised, leaning heavily into her shoulder.

"Why do _you_ think you're like him?" he queried, squinting up at her. She made a face and began to viciously peel at the skin in her cuticle.

"You're doing that thing Sweets does." Booth played innocent.

"What thing?" he asked with wide eyes.

"Where you make me answer a question I asked you by asking a question." Her brow puckered. "Did that make sense?"

"Hey – I'm not a genius but I followed it." She laughed self consciously as he waited in expectation. She didn't look at him but in sudden fascination as she watched her skin suddenly bloom with a tiny bead of blood.

"Booth," she protested, unwilling to talk about it. He frowned darkly. She rolled her eyes and picked up a strawberry. She sucked on the sweet flesh, leeching the juice from around the leaves before finally twisting off the stem as she thought. He noticed the blood and took her hand. Twisting her third finger into his warm mouth, he cleaned her up. She blushed and protested it was unsanitary but he simply waited as she rinsed her finger with a capful of water.

"When I was little," she began, and a big smile spread Booth's face in anticipation. She couldn't help but smile in the face of that. "I asked him why he married mom. He made up this elaborate fairy tale," her eyes squinted even though it wasn't sunny. "He made up a romance, a whirlwind adventure, a true love saga." Her face was far away, lost in wistfulness and a land Booth couldn't follow to, one where it was…bitterness…perhaps, something he almost couldn't name settling around her beautiful mouth.

"I now, of course, realize it was all a lie. Dad never met mom at college. They were criminals. They probably met at a bar or on a job. He didn't take her out dancing, he didn't fall madly in love with her, they didn't run away because their love was forbidden. That was all a scheme to explain why Russ and I never had grandparents." Booth squeezed her hand.

"Dad…" her voice constricted on the word. "Well, he made love out to be some enchanted evening. Some fairytale. But that's not what it is. That's not real life."

"Bones…" he began, a bit alarmed at both her bitterness and the dawning realization creeping into her tone.

"He lied to me Booth," she snapped, her eyes bright. "He lied to me. He looked me in the eyes and told me that he married her because he loved her. Was _that _true? Was _any_ of it?"

"Bones-" but she rambled on, her voice gaining in octaves.

"Then he just _left_ and he told you those were the comic book days. He told you that he loved my mother but I'm not sure if he's even capable of it. Does that mean if I'm like him that I –"

"Bones!"

"He has affection for me, certainly, but you don't _leave_ someone because you love them."

"He did leave because he love-"

"Would you leave me?" she demanded, and Booth stopped, breathless. "If I was in a bad situation, if I was in danger, if you could _stop _it, would you leave to try to draw it away?" Booth's eyes burned into hers. She had trapped him. She knew his answer as well as he did. He could never leave her; but he would always save her. But if he admitted it, her argument was won. Sometimes she was too smart. Too smart to just feel.

"Tell me Booth," she begged, but her begging was in the voice of an imperial mandate. Slowly, he shook his head once, brown eyes boring into her soul until he took some of the fire from them.

"I would never leave you." Her shoulders slumped in both victory and grief. "But the situation you described was just not ...right, Bones. It just was...well it was wrong."

"In what manner was I erroneous?"

"First off, you weren't being held at gunpoint, but gunpoint was coming your way. If someone was stalking Parker and I had to leave him, leave him and never see him again to save his life – to save my _son_ – I would. In a heartbeat. But he's my son. Bones we're _partners_. Whatever else happens in our relationship – that's what relationships are about. Partners. Like Angela and Hodgins. He's her grounding force without bringing her down and she's his inspiration to keep him from burrowing into his own frustration. Like you and me. We complete each other. _Partners_ run away together. I'd never leave you behind because I know you. You're not some kid. You're half of me, you're my fighting arm. I need you." She was very still underneath his side and he could feel her beginning to shake.

"Anything else?" she asked defiantly.

"Yeah," butted Booth belligerently. "And I think you're right about love." She stopped, sidelined, completely thrown.

"What? Booth you are all about love. I envy you for believing that you can lose yourself in another person. You believe love is transcendent. All encompassing."

"But it's not a fairytale," Booth interrupted. "It's not a twilight or a moonlit walk. It's not people skipping into the sunset, or floating on some cloud. Love is hard. Tough. Love is working at it. Love is looking at someone for _everything_ and taking all of it anyway. Love is a trek up a mountain. It sucks sometimes – it's hard, there are landslides and tough days and tough years. But sometimes it's breathtaking. It's beautiful. It's worth it. Love is setting up camp when you just want to lay right down and not go on." Brennan swallowed hard. How could he see into her eyes like open doors and bring out her deepest most shameful desire – to stop. To give up.

"Then what is it? If it's not a fairytale?"

"It's graveyards," he gestured, and she laughed. "It's pancakes and agonizing car rides. It's making love and kisses on the cheek. It's giving in and buying a pig. It's having nightmares because you're so terrified for someone else. It's walking away, or taking the fall for your kid brother. It's bad jokes and lukewarm coffee and endless hours in therapy just to see you." He stopped. The last bit had just slipped out. He shrugged helplessly as she smiled a watery smile at him; as wavering as the smile was, her eyes were dry and clear. They pierced into him, healing him and he finally nodded. "Bones – love isn't what your dad told you, or what Disney did…"

"I don't know what that me-"

"Love is just love, Brennan. Love is just…love." He shrugged.

She looked shyly at him before quoting, "Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails-"

"First Corinthians 13: versus 7 and 8 - Bones what...how do you know that?"

"You always quote Bible verses Booth," she shrugged, self conscious, "I pretend like I know what you're talking about but instead I write down the numbers so I can better understand-"

"Understand me?" His eyes were very soft, very gentle. She nodded, feeling naked.

"Yes."

"You read the Bible for me?" She swatted at him.

"You read the case files for me. I know you have to use an encyclopedia to understand some of the descriptions...you could just ask me, but you don't."

"Yeah well..." he trailed off. "The crazy things people do for love I guess." Then he winked. "Also – love is that golf cart coming towards us and cookie cake when we can finally snag a ride instead of your genius idea of trekking across half the state in this graveyard."

"Hey!" she sniped, but the fire was gone and a smile broke over her face that she was powerless to stop. "Hey, at least I got us here."

"And I'll get us a ride to information to where the plot is. If you bat your lashes right, maybe we can get someone to drive us out there too."

Thinking of nothing better, Brennan stuck out her tongue and began to gather the blanket.

The epitaph was plain. _Beloved wife and mother_. It had been hard to find as she had remarried. Brennan stared at the carved words as if she could glean something to learn about Booth that he didn't teach her himself. _Sarah Ione Booth Mackey._

"Ione?" she murmured under her breath. Not quietly enough for Booth, who had crossed himself upon entering the plot after charming a gruff old man into a cart ride out to a part of the cemetery they hadn't even known existed. He looked up and chuckled under his breath, interrupting his silent prayer.

"She always hated it too. It ran in the family and it was a tradition for any girl in the family to be called Ione somewhere in her name. Mom was thrilled to have two boys – she always said," his voice sounded a little strange both to his own and to Brennan's ears – "that the best gift was not to have to pass on that ugly name."

"Her name was Sarah?" She inflected it as a question but didn't need to as it was sitting in front of both their faces. Booth smiled more at her attempt at consolation than at the question.

"Yeah." He nodded slowly to himself. Brennan shrugged, awkward.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "I am, Booth, I'm sorry. And I know what it's like."

"You're the only one Bones," he joked with a grimace and her face changed into a mirror of his pain.

"That is statistically improbable," she informed him. Statistics always made her feel better with their irrevocable logic. He nodded again.

"Right."

"Do you want a minute?" she asked quietly. He started to nod but then changed his mind.

"No, nah – I don't mind."

"Do you want me to say something?" Brennan asked hesitantly and he looked up at her in surprise. His face broke out into a little boy's smile – tired but true. Her heart swelled to see it back on his face; she felt like she had cured him, single handedly and completely unscientifically. There was something to be said for being a 'heart person.'

"Yeah I wantchu to say someffin." A new voice leered behind them; Brennan sprang around in surprise, ripping her hand from Booth's both guiltily and to better ascertain the situation. Booth was more sluggish in his response, his head whirling.

An old man, near his mid sixties, portly with a white beard and dark brown eyes, glared at them. A bottle of whisky hung in one hand, a single white carnation in the other. In comparison to the newly fresh bouquet of flowers from the grocery store, his flower looked like a meager proffering. Booth was not standing steadily, and tottering in pain from over exertion and the stress that came with the day.

"And you are?" asked Brennan, not haughtily, but with the tone she adopted when she found something distasteful and unpleasant simultaneously.

"I'm Sarah's 'usband you crack whore," slurred the man, flinging the whisky suddenly at Brennan's face. Booth immediately patted himself down for a gun only to realize he was unarmed in face of his injuries.

"Sir," he started, trying to keep the peace. "I'm her son – my name is Special Agent Seeley Booth, this here is my partner Dr. Temperance-" He never finished the introductions as the man growled as soon as he heard Booth's name.

"Stupid scumbag," he screamed, "she hated you! She didn't want _you_ she wanted _me_," and his hammy fist swinging, he caught Booth square under the chin, partially to the jaw and partially to the throat. Booth dropped like a stone in water.

Furious, Brennan tapped the drunkard on the shoulder. Turning, he looked instantly confused before Brennan smashed his face in with a round house elbow.

"That's for Booth," she grunted as he dropped to one knee before the heat in his veins drove him to dive for her stomach, tackling her to the ground. Brennan felt something graze along her rib in a line of fire before she expertly rolled, kicked his knee in and had knocked the man cleanly out without him being able to cry out once.

She rolled him to his back to check if he was still breathing. His nose, at least, had stopped gushing the initial fountain of blood. He would live.

Abandoning him to wake up next to his miraculously unharmed but now empty whisky as Brennan had upended the amber liquid all over his chest, she scurried to check on a groaning Booth. Turning his face this way and that and finding him basically unmarked, she moved to his stitches. They were strained but intact. Hearing the hum of tires she flagged down a gator car and helped Booth stagger to his feet.

"Open," she commanded him and he, wincing, obliged. He immediately made a gagging sound when she unceremoniously thrust her fingers into his mouth, checking for cuts or loose teeth. "You're lucky," she informed him. "It probably won't even bruise."

"And you?" he asked, rubbing his jaw and feeling a headache begin to pound between his eyes. He knew she wouldn't give him more Vicadin before his prescribed dose was up. "You okay Bones?" She shrugged smugly.

"He was down before he knew what hit him. He'll be fine." The groundskeeper looked skeptically at the unconscious man.

"I'll check on him later," he promised the partners grouchily as they loaded into the car. With a smile that hurt Booth's already aching head, Brennan pulled out a bag.

"Wine?"

"God please," moaned Booth. Laughing, she handed the whole bottle to him before she drove them back to the diner in a triumphant return.

_Love never fails_, she thought.

Booth looked over the thousands of graves. _Here was peace._


	24. Don't Ask Me To Be Lois Lane

**Chapter 24: Don't Ask Me To Be Lois Lane**

Upon returning to the diner, Booth and Brennan found their two hour or so escapade had translated into another serving of food for the Squint Squad. Jumping up and pleased to see them both, everyone rushed to meet them as they staggered through the IHOP doors.

"Looks like you'll really be needing that wheelchair now – huh Agent Booth," chuckled Sweets before gulping at the death glare Booth shot his way. As Sweets blushed, Booth shared a wink with Hodgins.

"Seriously man," confided Hodgins, prying the considerably emptier wine from Booth's fingers, "you might want to sit down."

"Is it weird that I'm starving?" laughed Booth and they all laughed too, ordering another round of sodas and coffees while Brennan pulled out the cookie cake.

"I forgot about this!"

A waiter came up to scold them for bringing in their own food, but Hodgins smoothly pulled him aside and exchanged several low words and what looked like an appeasing amount of cash. Heartily, they all cleared plates and clamored for forks as Brennan precisely divvied and cut the cake into equal wedges. She served everyone along her bench first before reaching across the table to hand a piece to Angela when Cam spoke, shocked.

"Brennan- you're bleeding."

"What?" Immediately Booth sprang into a half crouch, wincing, demanding to see while Sweets turned like a yoga instructor, contorting his body next to her trying to find the source of her blood. Angela and Hodgins were lost in each other.

"It's fine," she soothed the table in general, waving cavalierly.

"How did that happen?" snarled Booth, half demolished cookie cake forgotten.

"What happened?" asked Hodgins, blinking as if walking in from a sunny day; he was still dazzled by Angela.

"Brennan you're shirt – it has blood down one side," exclaimed Angela, finally catching up to everyone else's reality.

Brennan lifted her arm and checked. Sure enough, drenching the thick fabric of her oxford was a thin line of blood. She could feel more sticking to the skin of her side. She shifted, not wanting to soak the rest of the shirt and worry them further.

"It's nothing," she shrugged. "Just a scratch."

"There's blood dripping onto the bench," Daisy observed timidly, scooting towards her Lancelot to closer examine the pool on the wooden booth.

"I should look at it," observed Cam.

"I wanna see," whined Hodgins.

"Sweetie I should come –"

"-looks wicked long-"

"WHAT HAPPENED!" Booth finally bellowed over the clamoring table. They all went silent, staring at his gripping the fork in his hands like a knife.

"The man at the graveyard Booth," she began quietly, trying to hush his tone and shield him from the scandalized other diners by leaning forwards. He leaned forwards too until their faces were inches away.

"The one that attacked you?"

"You guys went to see a _grave_?" gaped Sweets.

"You took Booth to see his mother?" frowned Cam, as if frowning in both concern and approval.

"He attacked _you_ Bones, not me-"

"Who attacked who?" gasped Hodgins.

"It's who attacked _whom_," corrected Brennan over Booth's glower, quickly turning her face before resuming their glare down, inches apart.

"Someone attacked you?" ground out Angela, "Oh I would have kicked that guy in the-"

"It wasn't a big deal," protested Brennan.

"Not a big deal? He went after you and now you're bleeding. He had a knife?"

"Just a little one Booth. But you were incapacitated. He punched you out. I took care of –"

"Incapacitated?" spluttered Booth, "I was getting to it-"

"He punched you out?" screeched Cam, "For what?"

"He was my mother's second husband," ground out Booth, still furious with Brennan. "He was confused about who I was. But it's fine. Bones got him good."

"What was he crazy?" asked Sweets.

"You're the expert on crazies," grinned Angela at him.

"Bet he was drunk," supplied Hodgins.

"Brennan didn't even save his whiskey!" complained Booth.

"It smelled awful!"

"Bones, now you're all cut up! I told you that we can't do this! You keep getting hurt!"

"Booth!"

Booth sat, grinding his teeth before grabbing her elbow and dragging her away. She towed behind him as he slammed her into a wall against the men's bathroom, jerking his thumb at the door as she locked it. It was a single's bathroom with one toilet and a urinal. He put his hands to each side of her face and she saw then that he was shaking.

"Booth, maybe you should sit-"

"Don't tell me to sit down!" he snapped. "I've been sitting all day! I'll be sitting for a while! Don't tell me to sit down!" Brennan stopped, terrified. She hadn't seen him this angry at her in years.

"Booth-"

"Bones you could have been killed! You could have gotten cut up! Thank God he was drunk. It could have been your throat – your heart…"

"Booth-"

"I'm serious. I don't know if I can do this. I love you. I'm crazy about you. But you're all over the place. You're going to get hurt. You always do. I've gotten you shot. I've gotten you stabbed. Who _knows_ what happened in New Orleans. And now – this trip. My God Brennan." He started sobbing and Brennan, completely bewildered, simply put her hands on his shoulders as he leaned his elbows against the bathroom door, his face in her shoulder.

"There are stitches all over you," he mumbled into her shoulder. "I can't do this. I can't do my job knowing you're about to get killed. I cant do this anymore."

"Do what?" whispered Brennan, terrified. She knew that tone. It was the silence that spoke. The silence when they left.

"Everyone's always leaving," he whispered and she jumped. He had read her mind again. She was secretly scared he would stop loving her for this; but this was who she was. She could be nothing more than who she was - not for him, nor for anyone. She could be nothing less.

"Booth?" His name was a question.

"I've killed a lot of people Temperance." She stopped cold, ignoring the hot blood. He never called her by her first name. The last time had been years before. "And a lot of people have died. My friends. My soldiers. My family. People I love, people I hate. It's all the same. They all die. They all…" he grew quiet, leaning his forehead against hers. She shared his sucking, ragged pants, their bodies equally tired, their breath equally quick.

"I can't lose you too. I saw Cam when Epps…and when the gravedigger got you…you can't imagine-"

"Yes I can," she suddenly said. "Don't tell me I don't know what it's like. Don't tell me I haven't seen you get shot, blown up – Booth _look_ at you! You can barely stand. I can walk around. I'm _fine_."

"They almost got you!" he shouted and she shook beneath him, his body slumped to hers. "They almost _got_ you." She knew what he meant. When she had been tied to the bed. "I could hardly breathe. Couldn't watch. Couldn't not. I thought I was going to explode, or die, or burn. I couldn't-" his breath hitched. "I can't do this with you always in danger."

"So you're asking me what," Brennan's anger flared up, burning. "What - to give up my career? Sit helplessly on the sidelines while you do the very thing you're yelling at me for? Give up everything I've worked for? Strived for? Achieved in anthropology to-"

"You shouldn't be in the field," he started.

"_You_ brought me there," she interrupted. "I asked and you said yes. You knew what you were doing-"

"Not like this."

"Yes you did. You had worked with me. You go out and risk your life every day. I do less of that. How can you put up such a double standard. You're being completely sexist –"

"Sexist! I _love_ you! I'm trying to protect you!"

"I can take care of myself!"

"That's not what I mean!"

"I was the one who saved you. I punched the guy out Booth."

"Yeah you had my back but-"

"But what? We're _partners_. We're protective of each other. But this is ridiculous. I got your back. Of course Booth. Of course I will always cover you, work with you. In your earlier debate you said that we were in this as a _team_. That you wouldn't leave me behind. Isn't that what you're doing? Asking me to voluntarily stay behind? Or was all that just drivel?"

"It wasn't-wait what word did you use again?"

"Drivel."

"Not drivel! I meant it I just-" he faltered, his argument once again caught in a trap. "I don't know. I worry."

"I worry too," she admitted quietly. "But I just don't show it as much."

"You have a headache," he accused her.

"How could you know that?" she asked in astonishment.

"Oh," he waved airily, and their first fight as a couple began to evaporate, caught in the mercurial winds of their relationship, "your fat head told me."

"Booth," she laughed. "Same size…but you have a very large mental foramen."

"Which means…" he dragged out.

"Your forehead is like an anvil," she teased. She sobered. "You can tell?"

"I can always tell when you have a headache," he nodded and drew his trigger finger up her nose to rest quietly at the bridge. "You get a little wrinkle…right here." Brennan blushed.

"Okay, no more alpha male syndrome. I'm your partner."

"Well we can't live this life forever," Booth said practically.

"Well no one lives forever," Brennan shrugged. Booth rolled his eyes.

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, "I know you just mean we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Wait, what bridge? Where are we going? The nearest river on our route is several-"

"It's a saying Bones."

"An axiom?"

"Don't know," grunted Booth. "You're using big words. I'm just a dumb FBI guy."

"Not so dumb," she smiled coyly. She let her lips briefly touch his, teasing. She never failed to delight in the pupilometry that occurred when he looked at her. His pupils were dilating quickly with lust, with attraction, with love. She grinned. "In some areas," she squirmed beneath him, "you can be quite…learned."

"You're saying I have skills?"

"As Angela would say – 'mad skills.'" Booth's little boy grin wreathed his face before he frowned.

"You're just trying to distract me. And flatter me." Brennan latched daintily to an earlobe and nibbled as he leaned her harder against the door.

"Is it working?" Booth nodded, groaning, before standing upright.

"Stop. Before I lose my mind."

"You can't _actually_-"

"Okay. Move to the women's restroom before the entire diner thinks we're having sex in here. I'll send Cam in."

With a sigh, she unlocked the bathroom door. The entire Squint Squad was lined against the hallway, shamelessly eavesdropping on the louder bits of the conversation. They applauded when they both walked out. Brennan blushed. Booth waved them off.

"Yeah, yeah. Cam – take a look at my _partner_," he emphasized the last word to accentuate his acceptance of the facts. "Make sure she's not cut up too bad."

"Badly," corrected Brennan absently.

"I'll get you advil," sighed Booth, rolling his eyes.

"Got it," dimpled Cam, holding up a first aid kit. She pointed a finger. "Back inside Dr. Brennan." With a grumble, Brennan slunk back into the restroom.

"That's the men's restroom Camille," hissed Booth.

"Very good Seeley, look's like you know you're anatomy." His expression darkened.

"Haha, very funny. Genius quip. Now get into the girl's room…or do I have to rip off your shirts to show to the public-"

"For a while we were convinced you two had," laughed Cam, "when your voices were too low to hear." Behind Cam, Booth and Brennan exchanged a chagrined look. "This bathroom is best because, if you haven't noticed, women pee a lot more than men. It'll be best if we do it in here."

"Speaking of which," bounced Daisy, who then flounced into the adjacent bathroom, giggling that they could all hear her.

"Oh boy," groaned Hodgins. Even Sweets looked embarrassed.

"Fine," snapped Booth. Then his face brightened. "You two have fun. I'm going to finish my cookie cake," he pointed and finger at Brennan, "and yours." He closed the door over her protesting face.

With an ominous click, Cam locked the door. She shrugged, clinical and yet empathetic, taking the awkward tension out in a rush.

"You punch him good?" Brennan grinned.

"Broke his nose."

"Excellent."

"Thank you," said Brennan primly.

"Best if we do this on the toilet. Put the lid down and take off your shirt." Brennan complied complacently, not the least bit abashed about her body.

"Oh boy," hissed Cam, seeing half of Brennan's side drenched in blood, the spurting slow but steady. The Oxford was red on the inside, but the blood hadn't seeped through except directly over the semi-shallow gash. It was fiery and stinging, and just deep enough to require stitches.

"It just looks bad," Brennan informed her. "If you just wipe up the excess blood the cut will be much milder."

"I know how to do my job," smiled Cam.

"Does that ever stop me from telling you?" asked Brennan wryly. Cam opened her mouth, then shut it with a little puff of air.

"Mmm…No." They both laughed. Cam gently but quickly wiped the blood from her skin. "Do you favor precision work with more pain or quick stitches with less?"

"I don't want a scar."

"It'll hurt more."

"I'll be fine." Cam knew Brennan was becoming more terse out of deliberate expectation of pain.

"Sorry," she offered. Brennan shrugged in seeming indifference as Cam threaded the needle. Absently, she touched her previous stitches on her face just as Cam crouched next to her and took a pinch of her skin between her fingers.

At the first entrance of the needle, Brennan hissed, irked and then exclaimed:

"Will people _please_ stop sticking needles in me!"


	25. That Cheeky Grin

**Chapter 25: That Cheeky Grin**

**This one is shorter than the others, but I need to gear up and get a plan. I know when a story is winding down, so I need a big finish. Ideas (And reviews!) are always welcome. No worries, I won't stop writing - this was just a wonderful fic - I don't need it to be a soap opera.**

It was an odd ring, very old and very plain.

"This is the one ring," came a voice from over her left shoulder and Brennan jumped guiltily, caught staring at the gold ring in the palm of her hand for far too long.

"I'm sorry," she apologized clinically. "What are you talking about?"

The girl, with honey brown hair grinned cheerfully at her, her perfect smile flashing in her heart shaped face. "The One Ring," her enunciation capitalized the words in Brennan's mind, "is a iconic image in the literary world of fantasy written and developed by J.R.R. Tolkien in the 1940s as a reflection of the Second World War. _The Lord of the Rings_ was later developed and adapted for the cinema about ten years ago by Peter Jackson. My jest that you are holding the ring of power comes from a popular cultural reference." Brennan's smile twitched at her explanation.

"I'm afraid I'm not very good at pop culture, but I appreciate your succinct description."

"You're an anthropologist," the girl waved a hand as if this should explain everything: to Brennan, it did. "I also appreciate when people directly inform me of the reference I don't understand in a holistic approach instead of laughing at me."

Brennan smothered another smile; the girl was sharp, no doubt about it. It had been almost three weeks since the entire car trip had been completed; no one had lost their job, but Cam had received an earful for picking up her people and leaving. Caroline had helped, covering for most of them, saying that although the case had occurred in Maui, the Squints had been needed in Santa Monica to help identify the remains.

However, Brennan and Booth had been mostly platonic. Booth was on leave and was living with Jared as the doctors had counseled he shouldn't be alone. He often texted Brennan about the agony of picking out wedding colors, napkins, and other wedding accoutrements with Padme. Brennan had smiled and ignored him. She knew Booth. He liked helping.

"I'm sorry…" Brennan waited for the young woman's name again although she had already introduced herself.

"Taylor. You met my mom at the t-ball game – I help coach Parker…"

"Oh, yes, of course. Your mother Katrina."

"Yes." They were both silent a moment and the awkwardness settled between them.

"I'm sorry," apologized Brennan again, "but _why_ are you giving this to me?"

"For Booth," Taylor explained patiently. She seemed hesitant. "It belonged to his father."

"What am I to do with it?"

"Give it to him of course." Taylor's eyes were a bizarrely familiar color. A normal brown, but upon catching the light they flashed amber as she smiled. Something niggled at Brennan's brain but she ignored it.

"Give it to him." She echoed the words without comprehension.

"You're a working woman," shrugged Taylor, "it's a new age." Brennan frowned.

"Excuse me?"

"He talks about you all the time. Even to the boys. To me – all the time. It's easy to see he's crazy about you."

"You're suggesting…" Brennan's throat tightened. She was smart, and her brain had already flashed through all the possibilities that Taylor could mean. She knew what she was saying.

Taylor shrugged. "Well…yeah. You've been together what – almost six years? My parents dated for seven – and even then they were mostly just best friends and _then_ romantic."

"We've only…we've only been together…" Brennan felt surprisingly unable to form the words. "Seven years?" she said slowly instead, her heart thundering in her ears. This was unthinkable. Ridiculous. Preposterous. Plausible. Outrageous. Her mind skipped back a word. _Plausible?_

Taylor nodded serenely. "They were the same age…five days apart actually – but dad had to drop out for a semester to work his way through school. He graduated a year late and my mom was already off to medical school. But the summer before medical school he rented the house next to hers where she lived with her mom…not even romantically – just to be with her because they were best friends. He waited for her because he knew her career was the most important thing to her. So they got married the same month she graduated medical school four years later."

Brennan blinked. "He waited…four years?" Her mind could hardly wrap around it. "What did he do for the year between college and medical school?" Taylor hesitated, chewing her bottom lip.

"I'm…not sure." Brennan didn't have to have Booth there to tell her she wasn't getting the whole story. She looked down at the ring again but covertly took notes about Taylor from the corner of her eye.

Taylor was younger than she by about fifteen years. Her mother had said she was what…21? She was of average build, not skinny, but in no way chunky. She looked athletic, with broad shoulders and hips and her honey brown hair, stranded somewhere between the colors of dark blonde and light brown, looped up in a cocky ponytail. Brennan knew by her vocabulary she was very bright. Taylor caught her eye, and Brennan hastily resumed her inventory of the ring in her palm, once again caught off guard by brown eyes under thick eyelashes. Perhaps it was the eyes, she decided, touching the ring with one finger, they were deeply set into her head, giving her sharp, defined features not usually found on the average American, with high rising cheekbones and a small chin, causing her head to look almost too refined for her body.

The ring itself was gold, but poorly polished. It was plain, large and heavy, easily slipping over either of Brennan's thumbs. However, she knew from experience that Booth's hands were big. Brennan had the grace to blush as she wondered if this ring size would fit his fingers. There were three rectangular stones set in the front of the ring, no more than half the width of her littlest nail across and still well away from the edges of the ring. It made the ring have a peculiar appearance, almost as if they were windows in a building.

Brennan was not Hodgins, and couldn't know for sure, but rubbing her finger over each, she was fairly positive that the first small rectangle was griqualandite, colloquially dubbed tiger's eye, and the shimmering bands and silky quality beamed out a very similar color to the young woman's eyes on her right. The middle was a lustrous dusky red glittering stone, the only one of the trio that refracted polished light, which Brennan could tell was a poorly cut ruby. The last was gagate – more commonly known as jet or fossilized coal.

"Is there significance to the three stones?" she asked Taylor, turning once more to face the young woman. Her face brightened.

"I think it's something along the lines of soul mates." Brennan frowned, thrown.

"What?"

"The first, the tiger's eye, represents childhood and the idea of companionate love, the ruby represents ardent love of adulthood and the jet, as black, represents the twilight of life and the inevitability of death." Taylor winked to lighten the mood. "But I think the meaning behind the jet is to say that as long as the light shines in the stones, the love can never die."

"And this is for Booth…"

"Yeah," she said brightly. "I know he's in love with you and my mom said that-"

"Your mother?"

"She's a quick reader of people – doctor and whatnot."

"And whatnot," murmured Brennan, idly toying with genetics in the back of her mind.

Brennan idly fingered it for a while.

"Okay…" she finally said, looking up and realizing for the first time that they were in the diner. She hadn't heard the clinking of spoons, the splash of hot coffee or the low murmurs of customers until then. Taylor had called the Jeffersonian to ask where she was and had sat down with a cheeky introduction and with a couple of outrageous comments that had deflected Brennan's social awkwardness with ease from what seemed years of practice. When Brennan had asked Taylor how she had come to be quite so personable, Taylor had smirked and said her sister was "that type."

"What type?" Brennan had asked, offended. Taylor had smiled, her tongue between her teeth.

"The genius kind. We thought she had Aspberger's for a while – she never understood – still doesn't - understand human emotions or the right context." Brennan had laughed guiltily and Taylor had pulled out the ring.

"Right," said Taylor, intuitively leaping onto Brennan's train of thought with an ease that uncannily rang of someone else's charisma. "Yeah, I'll go now – I just thought you should have it. Belonged to his father and all." Brennan blinked and she was gone, striding across the crosswalk in tall brown boots, her white thigh length cardigan covering a cerulean top that brought out her tan coloring. She had left the diner before Brennan had even thought to ask her how she had got it or how she knew it belonged to Booth's father.

Brennan realized she was toying with the St. Christopher's medal hanging around her neck. Although she still sometimes half heartedly tried to foist it back onto Booth, she had taken to layering other necklaces atop it, always wearing it, even to sleep.

Brennan watched the young woman leave, noting that her nose was aquiline and helped accentuate her prominent forehead, her high cheekbones, her deep set orbital cavities…She coughed into her coffee cup, her brain finally clicking the pieces together the way it did when she caught the murderer. The brown eyes, the cheeky grin, the charisma, the brashness, the walk…and the ring…the missing year… She understood. Brennan breathed slowly, coughing between breaths. Margret Mead she understood.

She looked down at the ring again, nonplussed.

Seemed like family genetics ran strong in the Booth family.


	26. Cinderella Shoes

**Chapter 26: Cinderella Shoes**

"Temperance, that dress looks lovely on you." Brennan carefully smoothed the satiny fabric over her stomach, unnecessarily worried about looking too large.

"Thank you," she said honestly and turned around on the pedestal to stare at Amy. Russ was in the other room, helping his newfound step daughters try on different flower girl outfits. "It was quite thoughtful," _and unexpected_, she thought to herself, "for you to ask me to be a bridesmaid."

"You're Russ' sister," laughed Amy, her blonde hair glinting as she smoothed the white fabric over her own hips. Her mother smiled blissfully.

"You look beautiful darling. And you picked such a nice bridesmaid color." Brennan turned away from the sight of Amy in her wedding dress, holding her mother's hand, eyes aglow. Brennan concentrated on her own reflection, blinking her luminous blue eyes to quickly dry the blurry sight she was suddenly experiencing upon viewing a moment she herself would never had. She shook her head smartly; how ridiculously sentimental of her. It was doubtful she would ever get married.

She swallowed upon feeling two different objects bounce between her breasts underneath the bridesmaids dress. One was Booth's St. Christopher's medal and the other was his ring. She mentally corrected herself. His father's ring. It disturbed her how easily she had come to think of it as his. She had declined to mention the exchange; she was almost positive Booth didn't know what Taylor kept from him.

"Don't you think teal is a lovely bridesmaid's color Temperance?" Amy's mother was now addressing Brennan. She blinked and carefully turned, not quite spinning.

"It's not teal," she smiled back, simultaneously as Amy snapped.

"Mom it's _pistachio_." Brennan bit the inside of her lip, remembering Booth cautioning her not to overly correct people. She decided to decline to tell Amy that pistachio was a vibrant lime green instead of a pastel aquamarine. She instead turned back to survey herself once again.

Because Amy had picked a slim fitting sheath for a wedding dress, feathered in gauze and trimmed in pearls, she had decided to continue the theme of the sea for her entire wedding. Her reception would include seafood for her hors d'oeuvres and main meal, plus sparkling champagne instead of wine. Similarly, continuing the color scheme, Brennan was wearing a shimmering dress that glinted between light green and blue, which felt as if someone had saran wrapped her into it. She was slightly surprised her breasts didn't spill over the top of it as she had a fuller top figure than Amy did. However, Brennan did admire the shape and color of the dress; it brought out the redder glints to her hair and the blue of her eyes. Brennan felt no shame in clinically ranking herself the best looking of all five of Amy's bridesmaids.

"Oh show mother your shoes Temperance," gushed Amy, rushing over, causing the tailor to frown in disapproval and have to follow her flowing dress to better pin it.

Brennan smiled in spite of herself and crouching gingerly, sure either her dress was going to split the seam down her backside, or that her breasts would finally heed the call of gravity and spill over, she carefully unearthed a shoebox from her bag.

"Put them on," her soon to be sister-in-law urged. Brennan carefully sat, surprised that the tight fabric allowed her to do so and almost smiled smugly when she heard the other four bridesmaids whispering in envy about her body. She had not made friends with them; her brash attitude and forthright bluntness had not gone over well. While the maid of honor had been groaning how unflattering the dress looked on her (which, in Brennan's mind, was true), Brennan had tried to pipe in by suggesting she lose some weight before the wedding both for her looks and for her health. Scandalized, Brennan had endured the silence she was used to from the other four with long enduring patience. After all, that was how she had gotten through high school.

Angela was the mastermind behind the shoes. While the other bridesmaids were already shorter than Brennan's 5'9" stature, they had rushed to make it up with large three and four inch heels in varying colors of white, black, gold and green. Brennan's own shoes were silver – at least part of them were. They were plain pumps with a peep toe, but the body of the shoe was a small mosaic of glass woven together with silver mesh so intricately it looked as if she were wearing Cinderella's glass slippers.

While the mother cooed and shrieked over the shoes, and the bridesmaids gulped down their jealousy with false wonderment, Brennan had to wonder at the price Angela had paid for the shoes. When Brennan had offered to reimburse her, Angela had laughed throatily and said she more than had. Brennan had taken it to assume the check she had given Angela for her contributions in writing her books, but now she wondered if Angela had been alluding to her and Booth's relationship. Brennan's cheeks burned in the midst of the crowd as she recalled exactly what Angela had said.

It had been a long day. A grueling day. A day full of murder and death and despair. A day where Booth had held a weeping mother, sobbing for her son, and Brennan had gravely shaken the shaking hand of a grieving father as he adamantly refused to look at the small statured coffin that a team of lab techs had rolled past them to collect the bones.

"I can't imagine," Booth said, as they finally slid down the couch cushions. "What if it had been Parker?" The anguish, the worry, the helplessness had been so heavy in his voice, Brennan had not known what to do. She had simply placed her long fingered hand on his arm and squeezed. She had assured both Cam and a very troubled Clark, who had been as disturbed by the case as any she had ever seen, that she would lock up the lab. Booth had ordered takeout – just pizza this time – as they slaved over the casework at the upstairs table. The lights flickered and were halogenic pools of silvery light that weren't as warm or as reassuring as the yellow lights of either partner's apartment.

Slouching on the couch across from the coffee table and chairs on the inner balcony of the lab, the last report written, Brennan finally tilted her head back. Her eyes popped open when she realized he was watching her. No, not watching her. Studying her. The way she studied bones or Hodgins studied dirt.

"What?" she rolled her head to one side, irked and fatigued. His finger came up and traced under her eyes. She flinched but she hadn't meant to; it was a dead giveaway.

"I'm tired," she supplied to his questioning stare. His finger continued its almost blind meandering to the bridge of her nose; she could feel her headache pounding there, and knew her brows were wrinkled together. She made an effort to smooth them. He didn't ask, and she didn't offer this time. Her breath was bated; he couldn't possibly know. His finger drifted to her chin to tilt her face into the light but she jerked away, disturbed. He knew. She didn't know how he did, but he did. She waited for the accusation but he didn't say anything, simply let his fingers drift to the little hollow at the base of her throat. As his fingers splayed over her clavicle, his thumb rested in the little hollow and pressed, just the very littlest of pressure. She could feel her pulse beating steadily under his thumb. Only then did he speak.

"You've been crying."

"I have not, Booth," she said out of reflex, inflecting as much insulted tone as she could, as if the accusation was ridiculous instead of right. His left side of his mouth hitched up in a crooked smile as he felt her heartbeat flutter with her lies.

"Bones," he said her name with a rising tone at the end, warning her not to pursue this path.

"It was a long day," she said instead of admitting it. "I've been working. I'm exhausted Booth." She made a move to stand, but his other arm clamped her down. She glared at him and his crooked smile became a full blown one, feeling her heart thunder in frustration under his thumb. Her glare couldn't stand the force of his charm and felt it melting away until even the little tension between her eyebrows melted with it.

"Don't lie to me," he whispered. "I can always tell." One eyebrow went up over a blue eye.

"Really now."

"Yep."

"Prove it."

"Okay."

"One condition."

"Name it."

"Remove. Your. Hand." Her words came out icily and one of _his_ eyebrows went up over one eye.

"Tone, Bones, tone." She gritted her teeth and he mocked her with a little boy's smile, inches too close to her face, to taunt her frustration. She seethed.

"Those are the rules."

"Okay then." With great exaggeration, Booth lifted his hand as if releasing a docking clamp.

Brennan breathed a sigh of relief but stiffened when he ran his finger under her cheekbone. She held her breath, unsure if it would come up wet; he had been correct in his assumption. The case had rattled her as well. To her relief, it wasn't stuck with tears.

"I have one condition if you want me to prove my abilities." His words and tone were light, teasing, friendly but his face was serious, intense. Brennan swallowed.

"One," she allowed.

"Tell me why you were crying today."

"It was a sad case," she shrugged her shoulders and made her face crease in all the right lines of grief Sweets had outlined. "That poor little boy. I hate it when children get hurt Booth." His jaw clenched in anger. She sympathized; what had been done to the boy…

"Lies." She blinked and realized his anger was directed at her. Somehow, regardless of her correct grieving face, he could tell it was fake.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not playing a game here Bones. I asked you for the truth and you just lied to me."

"No," her own tempered flared to life. "It was a sad case, that boy truly suffered…"

"_That's_ not why you cried. You were upset Brennan, and you can get upset. But you don't cry unless it's important. Unless it's _personal_."

"Booth you are being ridic-" she squeaked as he suddenly swung up over her and pinned her to the couch. Her breath came in little pants; she knew he wouldn't hurt her rationally, but as his legs straddled hers and pinned her with all his weight, his elbows to her shoulders, his forehead against hers, she was threatened instinctively. She struggled briefly, but when he pressed his entire torso to hers, she stilled.

"Tell me," he whispered, and his breath flowed seductively over her face, enchanting her the way his scent always did when he was much, much too close.

"Booth –" she hissed, but it was weak, and her fury was gone. He knew her too well. She had cried hours before, and he had still known. That meant he had been biding his time to confront her, and watching her for hours. Her heart throbbed almost painfully with love for him.

He wanted her.

He protected her.

He loved her.

"Tell me Bones," he urged quietly, and she closed her eyes so she didn't have to struggle to focus her orbital lenses at macro at something too close to see.

"He…the boy…" she started, her breathing ragged, and Booth shifted a bit, his thumb resuming its position at the hollow of her neck, his other fingers sinking into her flesh over her collarbone to ease the pressure she had been hunching there all day. "He had someone to look for him. To grieve for him."

"You never looked." Booth didn't state it as a question. He knew that she was referring to her own parent's disappearance. She also knew that he wasn't saying his words. His words were saying what he truly meant: _You never grieved._

"Not personally," she answered clinically.

"Don't," he whispered.

"Don't? I thought it led to acceptance."

"You never go in order."

"Order of what?" Brennan asked, confused.

"The stages of grief. You've gone out of order. You've already had acceptance. Why backtrack?"

"Sweets would _not_ like that viewpoint."

"Sweets is a squint, he doesn't like things out of ord-"

"He is _not_ a squint!"

"Oh yeah? How come he's crazy specific about rules, regulations, following protocol, textbook cases?"

"Psychology is a _soft_ science."

"Still a science."

"Hardly," she scoffed.

"What I'm saying is why would you go back – when all you have to look forward to is ahead of you?"

"What's ahead of me?"

"Me." The confession was low. Sincere.

"Booth-"

"I will always be there."

"You can't know that."

"Yes I can."

"What if you die?"

"Death cannot stop true love."

"You're quoting the Princess Bride again."

"You said you knew the movie."

"I do."

"Believe it."

"But in reality, Booth, death _can_ stop true love because...well, you're dead."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does matter. Death is so final." He huffed a laugh that was mostly just a shared breath between their noses, their eyes open and crossed to stare too close.

"Death isn't final."

"What are you talking about-"

"Have you seen _Lord of the Rings?_" Brennan stopped, feeling a sense of déjà vu.

"Of course not."

"Gandalf – he's a wise wizard you see – he says that death is just another path... One that we all must take. That the grey rain-curtain of this world will roll back, and all will turn to silver glass."

"You base your belief on the afterlife in a stupid fairytale?"

"Tolkien was a very intense Christian believer."

"So your religion is a fairytale."

"No," he whispered. "It's real." His eyes were burning, burning brightly and so convincingly she wanted it to be real, just so she could be with him in this country he spoke of, one that would dawn bright, with a shore swiftly approaching.

"Booth," she said after a time and he grinned against her.

"Yeah Bones?"

"Don't ever die okay?" her voice was small, scared, unsure.

"Okay. I'll get right on that."

"I'm serious…I love you too much. We're partners in everything. By myself…I'd…I'd…"

"You'd be just fine. You're Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"No…I used to be. Now I'm Bones."

"I don't ever want to change who you are." A little smile lit her face, both sad and touched.

"Too late," she whispered.

They were silent.

"Bones," he whispered right back.

"What?" she smiled at the change in his tone.

"We're still alive right now…"

"So?"

"So let's act it. A tribute." His mouth closed over hers.

"Booth," her mumbled words were becoming quickly garbled. That man could do things with his tongue that should be illegal. "We're in the lab."

"It's midnight," he rumbled, his hands now roving down her sides, making her shiver and jump, on the brink of laughter. "No one is here."

"Security tapes…"

"You have a key. Erase them. Buy them off. I don't care."

"Booth…" but now his name was a moan and her hands had adroitly stripped off his suit jacket within seconds to join his shoes on the floor. She laughed when he pulled off his socks with his own toes but stopped when she felt his side, the new scar a bump under her fingers. He stopped too and they paused, staring as he ran his finger down her face. She had no scars.

He knew better.

"Are you okay?" he whispered and she nodded before lust overcame her and she stripped his shirt off too. They were quiet at first, the only sounds were their breathless laughter and mingled pants, and the loud clunking of his cocky belt buckle as it hit the floor.

The quiet only lasted as long as it took Booth to shift his head much lower than Brennan was used to, and then her pleasure sang the world a tribute to life, much, much louder than either had anticipated.

To Angela, downstairs in her office, the world was a blur. Hodgins was asleep at home in his own bed, as much as she desperately wanted him in hers, and instead of going home to an empty one, she had decided to take advantage of her enormous, clear lab screen and watch a movie in surround sound. The action movie had overpowered her mixed emotions with noise, gunshot and gore. She had enjoyed it more than was strictly necessary until about after three or four minutes of hearing an irritating voice in the movie, did she realize the screams were not in the film itself.

Breathlessly, Angela bolted to her feet, grabbed the baseball bat she kept in her closet and crept from the lab. When she realized the voice sounded familiar, her blood ran cold. The screams faded and abruptly stopped. Angela's heart almost did too. Brennan.

Pelting up the stairs, she smashed the bat onto the bare back of a stranger; her swing was only half hearted though, slowed at the last possible second but unable to swerve away as she recognized the situation.

"What the-" shrieked Angela at the same time Booth let out a bellowing curse.

"Angela!" screeched Brennan, shocked and embarrassed, barely able to form the coherent thought to cover her shaking body before she made eye contact. Angela about died.

"Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my GOD! Brennan! Booth?" She turned questioningly to find Booth, staggered upright, the closest garment covering his front – which just happened to be Brennan's lacy pink and brown bra.

"Uh…" groaned Booth holding his ribs with one hand, unable to even think. Brennan tripped getting to him, shielding his body with hers, his suit jacket barely shielding her breasts from Angela.

"Oh God. Okay," Angela's face was now a huge grin of both chagrin and amusement. "Wow. Brennan." Angela delicately handed her the dress and made a show of turning around while they both silently, faces burning, struggled back into a semblance of clothing.

"Angela," Booth growled under his breath. "_What_ are you doing here?"

"Watching a movie," she shrugged innocently. "It's better than my screen at home. I heard the screams so…" She was grinning in what seemed a mixture of mortification and ecstasy at walking so inopportunely in.

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Booth. "You're welcome. Get your own peep show." While he shrugged into his suit jacket, Angela gave Brennan two thumbs up and a sultry wink for the performance. Brennan burned; she didn't think she had been this scarlet…ever.

When he turned back to the two women, all three broke out into helpless laughter. By the time they were done, Booth was wheezing and Brennan was furiously admonishing Angela at the top of her lungs.

"How's your back?" Angela asked Booth in real concern.

"Go away," Booth moaned as she made a move towards him. Brennan stifled a laugh into the cushion of the chair.

"For the record," Angela said primly, getting up and grabbing her bat as if it were simply an extraordinarily long purse, "we're even. You hit Brennan with a bat and I just returned the favor."

"Thanks for the interruption," supplied Brennan drolly, which so shocked the other two that another round of laughter was set off.

"And..." called Angela as she retreated down the stairs. "If you two keep going, I won't be able to sit on any couch ever again!"

"Sorry!" called Booth, laughing. "Not my fault this time." Brennan laughed into Booth's chest until they had both slunk home.

The next morning Angela had brought Brennan her shoes for the dress, telling her they would go with any color. Brennan knew an apology when she got one, and patted Angela awkwardly telling her it was all right.

"I'm _so_ jealous," Angela confided at the door, "I mean you two…" she fanned herself and Brennan had collapsed into her couch, the mortification still burning hotly.

The chime to the dress shop dinged open. Brennan's head snapped up as she rolled one ankle to help the shoes better conform to her feet. To her surprise it was Booth, ushering in a very reticent looking Parker. Emma and Hayley giggled and blushed as they came in from the next room, shepherded by Russ, both wearing white dresses with pink roses made from silk hanging into their ballet skirts. Parker made a face as the two girls tittered while Booth and Russ made introductions.

When Booth straightened up and saw her, his eyes went from brown to black in a heartbeat, his pupils eating the iris with lust. His black t-shirt fit him snugly over dark blue jeans and Brennan realized she wasn't the only woman admiring him in the room. The other bridesmaid's faces fell when he strode possessively over to her, Parker left to make conversation with the two girls.

"Bones, wow, you look…wow."

"Booth, what are you doing here?"

"Russ asked me if Parker could be the ring bearer in their wedding. I told him I'd ask Parker. Once he realized that Russ was your brother he told me he would…and I quote, 'Do it for Bones.'"

"Russ," exclaimed Brennan, as Russ appeared by her elbow, murmuring how beautiful she looked. "You asked _Parker?_"

"Tempe," he soothed, stroking her arm. "Amy was all willing to have you as much of a part of this family as she can. She asked you to be a bridesmaid and since she didn't have any little boys on her side of the family I suggested Parker."

"Why?" asked Brennan, completely blithely.

"Well you and Booth…you're together now…" Brennan knew what he wasn't saying. He had echoed it before. _To keep the two families close. She and Booth were going to _be_ a family. That's what Russ meant._ She swallowed.

"Yes, of course, that was…very nice."

"Is that a problem Bones?" asked Booth with raised eyebrows. "You could scream a little louder." Brennan realized her escalated voice had gotten the shop very quiet. She blushed and glared scathingly at him.

"Maybe then Angela could hear me." It was his turn to blush and glower at her. She laughed.

"Bones, are you mad at me?" It was Parker's young voice next to her hip.

"No, of course not Parker." His face lit up like Booth's did.

"Good cuz you're the prettiest lady here!"

"Except for the bride, right Parker?" Booth hastily injected, swinging Parker up.

"Yeah, I guess," pouted Parker. "Have you ever been married Bones?" he asked her, while his hair floated as a halo around his upside down face. Booth froze, holding Parker that way, his muscles quivering as Brennan smiled.

"No, Parker, I never have."

"Are ya ever gonna?" Booth's face looked strained. Brennan ignored the agony she saw flashing there. He knew she didn't believe in marriage. She answered Parker instead, turning her face sideways to be right side up in his vision.

"Maybe someday Parker." Parker almost hit the ground before Booth caught him around the middle.

"Da-aad," groaned Parker. "What'd you have to go and drop me for?"

"Sorry buddy," said Booth distractedly, but his eyes were devouring Brennan's face. "Why don't you go talk to the pretty girls over there?"

"But you're with the prettiest girl here," pouted Parker. "I'd rather hang out with Bones. She's cool." But Booth only heard the first part and his eyes were laughing down at her.

"Yes I am Parker. Yes I am." They were lost in each other for a moment before Brennan broke eye contact when she felt a tug on her dress. She was almost surprised the movement didn't pop her breasts out of the top. She looked down into Parker's smiling face.

"Geez Bones, where'dya get these shoes?" The moment went out in a rush as Booth and Brennan burst out laughing. Booth struggled to speak.

"I'll tell you when you're older sport, I'll tell you when you're older." Brennan gave him a death glare.

"Or not," Booth amended as Brennan swung Parker up in the air, laughing. She realized Russ was right. That Taylor was.

This was her family.


	27. Hey Soul Sister

**Chapter 27: Hey Soul Sister**

"Hey Brennan what do you want for your birthday?" Brennan scowled furiously into her bottle of water as she vaulted the stairs to the forensic platform. She was growing increasingly tired of the question. If it wasn't Angela asking as she was now – put out that Brennan always informed her that she didn't need a present – then it was Hodgins, suggesting outrageous ideas, some not unattractive. If she managed to evade the dynamic duo, Sweets was there begging in their sessions for a hint, Cam casually dropping it into the lab reports in her neat script for Brennan to find as she read over their case files, and even the interns who she knew from Angela's confidences, were pooling together to purchase her something.

As she strode onto the forensic platform, Fisher, Wendell and Mr. Nigel Murray jumped apart guiltily, ensconced around an empty examining table, obviously discussing what she did not need to be reminded of. Angela, unheeding to her bad attitude, although Clark, who was studiously ignoring the pool of other interns, flinched as she not quite slammed the empty bottle onto a rolling end table, vacant of instruments.

"Come on Bren," wheedled Angela, "give me a hint." The other interns leaned forwards eagerly and Brennan looked up.

"I do not _need_ anything. I do not _want_ anything! If I cared enough for it, I am perfectly able to fiscally purchase it for myself. Please save your money for something more productive." The interns wilted at her tirade, which had grown quite loud, and had reached even Cam, who poked her head out of her office, gave it a shake and smiled, and retreated back towards safety. Hodgins walked toward them nonchalantly, ignoring her outburst. Irritatingly enough, so did Angela.

"That's not the point of a birthday sweetie. I'll get you what I please with whatever amount of money I please. Now we can make this very easy, or very difficult. Be reasonable, and so will I. If not…" Angela trailed off darkly, "and your present will be a whole new wardrobe of _my_ choosing. And I will effectively get rid off all your other clothes. Underwear included." Brennan scowled furiously, knowing Angela was making no empty threat. The interns giggled behind their hands.

"Dr. Brennan," she breathed deeply at the formality; it helped ground her in the present, and not into nightmares that Angela not so subtly alluded to.

"What have you found Clark?"

"Fractures on the upper metacarpals, as if the victim was clawing at something or someone shortly before her death." As Clark continued his perfunctory examination, Brennan unwound, her quick mind able to listen, catalogue and wander simultaneously.

Something had been bothering her. The only person who had not asked what she desired for her birthday was Booth. Instead, he had asked for his St. Christopher's medal back, almost bringing her to tears. He had rushed to assure her she would get it back, but the familiar disc hanging around her neck seemed a huge loss to her in so short a span. However, another disc often bounced beneath her shirts, though no one else had seen it. She had been thinking seriously about it; after the fitting at the tailor for her bridesmaids dress she realized Russ' wedding was in less than six weeks. Both anxious with anticipation, and nauseated with it, Brennan realized that a plan had been unfurling itself in her brain ever since she had received the ring. Booth loved weddings; he would, undoubtedly be her date. Russ and Amy had already fixed him a spot with Brennan, Parker, and the two girls at the main table as a family. When she had received the seating arrangements for the reception, it had finally clicked into place for Brennan.

She treated him like family; she was never ashamed around him. Free to be herself and unwind, he had seen her inebriated and passed out, he had watched her sleep even though she had nightmares, they had spent Christmas together on more than one occasion…in all honesty, Brennan knew that in her heart Booth already _was_ family. So what was holding her back from making him her family? They would figure out housing arrangements in the year or so they were engaged. They were partners…and she had known they were partners for life for years now. Having made that decision, Brennan suddenly felt as if a giant shaking worry that had been rattling inside of her like a poltergeist had fled before her decisive nature. Brennan knew once she made a decision, she rarely wavered from it.

"Dr. Brennan. Dr. Brennan." She snapped out of her reverie with a blink.

"Clark. I'm sorry, what did you say?" While he repeated the last of his findings, Brennan paid strict attention. As Hodgins stepped forward to inform her of his analysis though, Brennan felt her resolve to pay attention waver and flee; most unlike her.

It was the wedding, she had decided. They would have a lovely ceremony, and they would go for a walk under the stars and she would let him find the ring. She wouldn't bow on one knee, but simply ask him, directly and clear headed, with the same words he had once dictated to her. That love defied the laws of physics. She realized she should also probably ask Jared...did girls ask familial permission? She wanted desperately to ask Angela, but knew her best friend could not keep her mouth shut.

"Bones…Bones…" she realized she had zoned out through Hodgins' entire findings, and Booth coming onto the platform as he was waving his hand before her eyes.

Booth wrinkled his nose; Brennan was always observant, but her tilted, canted head and unseeing, unblinking gaze had unnerved Hodgins into silence; it had taken Booth three or four calls of her name before she had started out of her reverie, seemingly shocked that he was right there.

"Bones, I was saying that I have to go to the Hoover building – do you want to tag along?"

"Yes," she said, "yes of course. Let me get my bag." She immediately began unbuttoning her lab coat and then, as if having second thoughts turned to Clark and her waiting interns.

"Very good work Dr. Edison. I trust you have everything under control. I want a full report on my desk by this evening. Hodgins – you too."

"But Dr. Brennan!" called Clark to her retreating back as Booth guided her away, "It's already…done."

"Let her go Clark," laughed Angela as Hodgins turned away, his heart squeezing painfully.

"Where's Brennan going?" asked Cam, swiping into the platform in another one of her skin tight yet flattering dresses.

"Let her go Cam – her head's on cloud nine," shrugged Angela.

"She didn't hear a word I said," corroborated Hodgins. "I even started talking about the magical particles of harrius potterficicus and she nodded along like it was pure science." Cam laughed.

"Wonder what's got her so distracted?" The other two shrugged and Cam leaned in.

"What are you all getting her for her birthday?" Angela stamped a foot.

"She's being difficult. She says she doesn't want anything, but we can't get her _nothing_, which means that she's going to end up with someone she really doesn't want."

"I think I know what I'm getting her," sighed Hodgins, and the other two women spun around, dark eyes flicking over his face.

"What?"

Hodgins told them.

"A _what?_" shrieked Angela.

"A horse," blinked Hodgins innocently. "Girls are all about the ponies. Plus Booth mentioned….or was it Max…Brennan used to ride as a kid."

"I could see that," put in Cam thoughtfully.

"Well there goes my plan," Angela sulked sourly.

"You were going to get her a horse too?" asked Vincent Nigel-Murray, all the interns shamelessly eavesdropping.

"I _was_," glowered Angela, as if this were all Hodgins fault, "going to piggy back or contribute to Hodgins' idea…but now…ugh."

"Where will she put it?" asked Wendell. Hodgins shrugged.

"I assume eventually Dr. B will invest in a country house or lake house – having livestock on it will seriously bring down the tax returns."

"Did Booth say what he was getting her?" asked Angela.

In fact, Booth was ruminating on the situation now. He was almost positive it was the perfect gift; he knew Brennan inside and out. The only problem is that she often surprised him and she might react differently than he had originally planned. He realized their car ride had been silent; both lost in their own little worlds. He covertly snuck a glance at her, wondering what she was agonizing about. He comforted himself that at least it wasn't the same thing he was. His stolen glance though, turned into outright staring, a feast for his eyes at her beauty. Lost in her own world, her eyes gone where he couldn't follow, he gulped down desire staring at those ice blue eyes when he realized he was going to have to talk to Max.

Great.

He opened the door for her out of habit. She murmured a distracted thanks, but squealed his favorite un-anthropologist squeal when he muscled her up against the car and kissed her soundly until her eyes were focused on him on the here and now, and not somewhere far away.

"What are you thinking about?" he murmured, threading his arm around her back and guiding her towards the FBI building. He didn't even need her there; the case was almost wrapped up, and the witnesses questioned. He simply enjoyed the pleasure of her company.

"Just tired," she smiled back, and his step faltered slightly on the stairs. She rarely lied to him, even about matters so trivial. He supposed it must be something embarrassing. He cast around for a neutral topic as they waited inside for the elevator.

"Bones you looked…well…amazing doesn't even start to cover how great you looked in that bridesmaid dress." She blushed slightly.

"You're coming right?" she asked anxiously, and Booth realized she must have been worrying about the wedding fast approaching; she would hate to have to be at the wedding, at the center of attention, in a crowd of strangers. She was asking him to be there because she needed him. Or so he thought. Nonetheless, his chest swelled with pride and protection.

"Course I am," he laughed, nudging her with a shoulder as they bumped together in the elevator, unable to keep each other occupied in a much more preferable way because of the third agent, who was looking very awkward as it was with their obvious familiarity. "Plus I gotta bring Parker since he's the ring bearer– although Rebecca will pick him up from the reception and take him home. It gets pretty late."

"Okay." He noticed that she looked as if a huge burden had been lifted off her shoulders just by reassuring her of his attendance. He hadn't realized she had been that worried.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he promised her again. She smiled a huge smile.

"Good."

"You've been out of it today."

"I've been tired." Her words were careful and delicate.

"Well there's a cup of really crappy coffee with your name on it upstairs in the lounge."

"You want some?"

"I wouldn't leave you Bones."

"I know." She was silent and in the cover of the opening door to the lounge she repeated it to herself, the sincerity and sureness ringing in her ears.

"I know."

Within a minute Booth was handing her an overfull cup of lukewarm coffee. Predictably, her ungainliness and her newfound wave of exhaustion knowing that Booth was coming to the wedding, caused her hand to tip the edge of the cup all down the front of her.

"ARG!" she forced out between gritted teeth, angry at herself for not paying attention for the third or fourth time today.

"Just go home Bones. Take the rest of the day off hmm? I don't need you here. We're wrapped up. And Cam'll understand." Booth quickly whisked the cup from her grasp and sopped up the front of her covered clothes with paper towels.

"I can't," she sulked sourly. "My car is back at the Jeffersonian. Booth, just lend me your car keys and I'll run back home and grab a change of clothes and meet you back here."

"That's fine, we'll grab dinner at the Founding Father's. Then go back home and…" Brennan blushed as another agent poking his head into the lounge conveniently interrupted Booth.

"Agent Booth? There's someone waiting for you in your office." Sharing a wry grin Booth dug the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to his partner.

"Go on," he urged.

"You haven't asked me," she asked with a half grin on her face, shifting her weight to one foot as she waited.

"Asked you what?" he grinned back, turning from the doorway.

"What I want for my birthday."

"I got that one covered Brennan – just trust me on this one Bones. I know exactly what to get you."

"Will you give me back my St. Christopher's medal?"

"_Yours?_ I distinctly remember you tried giving it back on multiple occasions."

"Yes…well…it grew on me."

"It does that," he smiled impishly. "No worries Bones. You'll get it back. Now go – I have someone in my office." As she slipped past him with a smile, smelling divine even saturated with cold coffee, Booth smirked to himself. She had no idea what he was getting her. But it was perfect.

He hoped.

As he opened the door to his office, not knowing what to expect, Booth sighed in relief when he saw a familiar face, then frowned in confusion.

"Hey Taylor, what's up?"

The honey haired young woman stood, clutching her purse to herself and turning simultaneously, a tremulous smile on her face. Booth was inwardly shocked but covered it well as he made his way around his desk. Her usual ponytail and slick patina of sweat that accompanied her ready smile and pretty features had been replaced by long silky hair and full makeup. Similarly, her athletic shorts and tank top were replaced by a snugly fitting sundress, outlining very womanly curves and calf high leather boots.

He realized suddenly that she wasn't some cute kid. She was a very beautiful young woman. For some reason, he had never noticed.

"Hi Booth." Booth had a sudden striking thought.

"Parker-" She seemed to think along the same lines and said at exactly the same time.

"It's not Parker."

"Oh." Booth was nonplussed. "Is it Tony? Or some legal trouble?" He softened the words with a wink and a smile, but his offer was genuine. She seemed to know that because she grinned, as if trying to slice the tension only she could feel. Booth was still confused.

"No, no it's not that. I…er…I met with Dr. Brennan…no that's not really important…" Booth's eyebrows rose. Although he knew Taylor only somewhat, he knew that although patience with herself was limited, she had it abounding with the kids. She forcibly reminded him in personality of Cam, though he had never mentioned it to either woman. However, regardless of his guesses of her character, he knew she was never at a loss for words. She always knew how to exactly express what she needed to say. For her to struggle to say something imparted more of its importance than anything else. He sat down, face serious.

"Please, sit down. What's wrong?"

"Nothing…nothing…wow, this is much more difficult and seemingly awkward than I had previously anticipated." Booth tried not to bite his lip. As an English and Law major, Taylor had Brennan's habit of spewing off big words and changing her speaking style mid sentence when trying to rationalize her thought process. As a result, he liked to brag to the other coaches that he had the most verbose team in the league as his boys now liked to congratulate each other with words and phrases such as "splendiferous," "first rate," and "exceedingly well done."

"Booth…" her voice was quiet and her brown eyes boring a hole into his bobble headed bobby from London. She seemed to jerk her gaze to his face with a great force of will. "There's something I haven't told you. Why I signed up to be the little league assistant coach." She swallowed. Booth was catching onto her nerves but unsure why.

"It was…to work with you." Booth wanted to groan. Another crush.

"Taylor, I'm flattered but Brennan is my partner-"

"What?" She seemed confused and he stopped, also nonplussed. "That is _not_ where I'm going with this." His brow crinkled.

"Then what…"

"Your father abandoned you and Jared when you were thirteen years old. Yes?" Booth felt as if she had taken Angela's baseball bat to his gut.

"Wh- How do you – how can you know that?"

"That was 1985."

"I…I…" Booth didn't know what to say. Taylor plowed on blithely.

"My parents were married in 1987. They had known each other for seven years. But your parents were married in their teens. It's probably why your family life was so dysfunctional."

"Yes…but…wait _what?"_ Booth was starting to lose his patience, and his anger was rising inside of him. How dare she. Here Taylor seemed to falter, and Booth forced himself not to jump down her throat. She was only a kid, after all.

"Does this…conjecture…have a point?" he seethed in the politest tone he could muster.

"Although my parents knew each other for seven years, there are some years unaccounted for. My mother had an entire year of medical school without my father in 1983. I've pieced it together from silences and guesswork but – I'm pretty sure my mother dated someone else in that year apart. Nothing happened." Booth's head was spinning. Where was this going?

"But several years later, in Houston Texas of 1990, my father was attending graduate school to get his MBA…" Booth's mouth was dry. In those five years he had attempted to track his father down before enlisting after college. His last residence was in Houston, Texas, drinking away his alimony checks. Taylor cleared her throat, shuffling her purse on her lap.

"My sisters – you've seen pictures…met my mom. They look like each parent. Little clones. One looks like Dad…one like Mom. Everyone always told me I looked like a mixture…or like neither. After going through an art class in college, we toyed with a facial recognition program that matched us genetically to each parent." Booth could hardly see her through the white haze around her face; all he could stare at was her shining hair, and her eyes that had turned a vibrant amber in the light. They were full of promise, of eagerness. That wasn't how he had remembered them. There was silence.

"My mother had an affair." It was a simple statement, devoid of bitterness, though Booth wasn't naïve enough to believe she hadn't had to face that demon on her own. "The program matched many of my facial markings to my mother and none to my father. Naturally, I at first put it off as a fluke – no recent pictures of my father and whatnot." Booth didn't catch the slip. "Disregarding it, I began to amuse myself, and my friends – by putting in pictures of almost everyone I knew. Teachers. Family. Cousins. Roommates."

"Me." His voice was hoarse, ragged.

"25% match," she confirmed softly. She finally reached into her purse and pulled out what looked like an official document. He took it numbly but didn't have the mental clarity to read it. Taylor took a huge breath.

"I…I think I'm your sister."


	28. How Many Type A's Does It Take

**Chapter 28: How Many Type A's Does It Take**

**So originally, I thought this was the finale. Ha. As always, this wrote itself and did NOT go in the direction I planned at all. Oh well, guess you all will have to put up with more chapters...**

Brennan had decided not to mention Taylor to Booth, so was most surprised when they arrived together at the Jeffersonian the morning before her birthday. She had respectfully declined telling everyone how old she was, preferring to jest (or at least attempting), and incidentally confusing everyone. She knew – as it was her lab and she monitored most comings and goings regardless of what Cam thought – that there was a surprise party decorating Bone Storage downstairs complete with presents and streamers, preparing for tomorrow's event. There really was no alternative explanation for the ribbon Angela had strolled breezily by holding, nor the small mountain of gifts that was sure to be accumulating what with the intern's frantic excuses to keep returning to Limbo.

Regardless of what day it was, or would be in less than 24 hours, Brennan had preferred that everyone in the lab continue working normally, as it was to the rest of the world, a normal day. Yet, contrary to Booth's usual detours for a quick office romp (which scandalized her so much that it still felt deliciously naughty the eighth time they had accomplished the feat), or at least a morning coffee and kiss, he had not shown up in her lab. Their antics had not been unnoticed, but thus far everyone was so blissfully happy for them, not even Cam had threatened to douse them with cold water. So it was quite a surprise for Booth to show up late, of all days, with his apparent relative in tow. Brennan schooled her face to show nothing, greeting them both coolly and attempting a show of formality, making introductions to the young woman dressed in jeans and a flattering top.

"I know you two have met Bones, you can cut it out. This is my…" he only paused a beat too long before continuing, "sister Taylor. No, I was unaware I had a sister."

"Half sister," Taylor hastily amended. The poor thing looked like she felt awkward, but was much too personable and polite. Her face brightened.

"Who died?"

"I'm not sure," answered Brennan, following her gaze to the Forensic Platform. "He's been dead for hundreds of years." However, Taylor's smart remark had the desired effect and the tension went out in a rush.

"Have you…" Taylor looked meaningfully at Brennan, a look that wasn't lost on Booth. Brennan, while unskilled at eye conveyances, immediately was seized with a stroke of genius. Here was someone, an objective third party, with whom she could run through her proposal.

"Hello," said someone new, joining their little gathering. Fisher towered awkwardly next to Brennan, creating the effect that the young woman, only approximately 170 centimeters (or, as Booth liked to complain, 5 foot 7 in "American"), was dwarfed by their statures. Their arrival and little gathering had not been lost to the squints on the platform who were murmuring over the body to each other in low voices.

Taylor turned her body openly to face the rather intimidating, if pitiful, newcomer. Booth inwardly approved of her direct approach. Very strong. Very him.

Fisher began in a monotone.

"I saw you come in and when our souls recognized a kindred spirit, I saw then the listless despair that I, too, can relate. I am enchanted and bewitched by your façade of normalcy and beg to know your-" During his long winded introduction that had Booth wincing and Brennan fighting a fit of giggles, not to mention Hodgins about to inhale maggot slime and Cam giving a quick bark of a laugh that quickly became a cough, Taylor's face moved from polite to flat out annoyed.

"Look, _Sunshine_," she stressed the word, stopping Fisher short with a hand of unpolished yet smooth nails in the space between them, "I'm flattered but forget it. It's never going to happen."

"I know what I saw," persisted Fisher.

"What you saw was two bean burritos from Taco Bell who decided stomach acid wasn't the sauna they signed up for." Booth snorted into his lapels.

"I know your vehemence is code for-"

"Whoa now," said Taylor, taking a step back, a dark eyebrow lifting over an amber eye. "Hold it there Care Bear. You say anything more and I will kick your ass." Now Fisher's little melodrama had drawn most of the eyes on the Forensic Platform, including Angela's from her office, her big teeth flashing in a smile behind the glass. Fisher's face lit with a new ardor and he dropped a big hand on one of her shoulders, leaning into her face fervently.

"I thoroughly give you leave to-"

"Okay, that's it," Booth spit through gritted teeth, starting forward. "Nobody talks to her like that."

"Booth, calm down, she's doing very well," Brennan cautioned, holding his shirtsleeve and already touched that he was so protective.

"I see." Taylor's face had gone from annoyed to vacant; her voice had dropped from boiling to bored. "How's this. If you invade my personal space, or touch me ever again, I will find your favorite pair of black skinny jeans and personally bedazzle them. Into My Little Ponies. And if that doesn't deter you enough, I will duct tape you to a carousel and play 'Walkin' On Sunshine' over and over until you beg for mercy." Fisher's hand immediately dropped and he backed away, as if she had been unbearably rude.

"Once again, my soul is crushed carelessly and anonymously by a stranger." As Fisher shuffled away, Booth sourly slipped ten dollars to Brennan out of his pocket.

"You win," he confessed grumpily.

"Bravo," said a newer, throaty voice. It was Angela, holding a sketch. With an approving glance to Taylor, she immediately turned to Brennan. "Sweetie, I sketched out the exhibit opening design for the pamphlet you're supposed to give to the Jeffersonian for the new museum for the Bronze Age, but it's not coming out quite right…" She lowered the pad for Taylor, as Angela was a good inch taller that Brennan, putting her three inches above Taylor.

"Very good," Taylor mused, staring at the block lettering and the fast but realistic sketches around the words.

"It looks great Ange," Brennan assured her friend. Booth gave her two thumbs up.

"It's off," the artist pouted.

"There's an empty space here," Taylor offered unexpectedly, pointing a slim finger to hover in the air over the sketch. "It's incongruent since you've crowded the picture here."

"But all that stuff goes together," responded Angela.

"If you skewed the letters off kilter and made it asymmetrical, the piece would have that edge you're looking for." Angela quickly rubbed out some of the graphite and with sure lines rearranged the piece. The contrast was immediately different.

"It looks great!" crowed Booth. Angela nodded.

"Yeah – you know, you have a real artistic eye for layout. You should go into advertising."

The four began walking with Brennan, who, having grown bored of the conversation and itching to make sure her remains were intact, swiped all four of them onto the platform.

"I was in AP Graphic Design in high school, and senior editor for the school magazine." Taylor shrugged. "I did a little in college, but I have to confess, subliminal messaging would be too strong a temptation. I would totally overthrow the masses with my awesome ideas." She flashed a brilliant, infectious smile, as if she hadn't just handed Fisher his ass on a platter. Angela laughed.

"Overthrow the masses? You sound like this guy!" She gave a sharp tug to Hodgins' curly hair bent studiously over a microscope. He was so obviously eavesdropping, his intense scrutiny through the lens didn't fool anyone.

"Ouch," he complained, standing up to shake hands.

"Jack Hodgins."

"Taylor Walsh."

"I'm thinking if they're weak then they don't deserve a fair warning," jumped in Hodgins, as if the interruption of the conversation never occurred.

"You mean, you're fed up with stupid people?" Taylor's lips twitched.

"Well…yeah," grunted Hodgins, spreading his arms wide. "Aren't you?"

"That's besides the point," Taylor deflected, but her smile gave it away. Brennan swallowed her own grin and pushed past to work next to Cam on the bones. "We can't all be smart," shrugged Taylor, "or nothing would ever get done."

"That's…not true," said Brennan in a distracted tone. "We accomplish things here. We're all smart. Except maybe Booth…and Angela."

"Don't forget who sells your books sweetie," scowled Angela, with a not quite up to par glare.

"I'm just saying," shrugged Taylor, "if everyone was smart…people couldn't sell things like a Snuggie."

"What's a Snuggie?" frowned Brennan, her nose almost touching an ulna.

"A blanket with arms," Cam interjected absently, her fingers probing the orbital cavities.

"Well, one of the greatest leaders of all time was Hitler," nodded Hodgins.

"Whoa, _what?_ Excuse me, Hodgins," Booth said in his best polite, I'm-about-to-pulverize-you-with-a-meat-tenderizer tone. "Come again? And how did we get from advertising to Nazism?"

"Subliminal messaging...overthrowing the masses..." Hodgins' tone clearly said that he thought Booth was slow.

"No, it's true." Unexpectedly, Taylor came to Hodgins' defense. "He was a terrible person- worst ever, in my book since about half my high school was Jewish – but he _did_ inspire a nation to do the most outrageous things. People on the street believed him. If he had said Swedish Fish were agents of evil…well we might not have such beautiful little gummies."

"Swedish fish?" asked Booth skeptically. Taylor frowned and Brennan found that she almost shattered one of the bones in surprise at the "Boothy" expression on her face when he was about to say something outrageous.

"Yeah…they're pretty good. But after like 10 of those…or those amazing little sugary orange slices – the gummy ones – well I really feel the need to shave my tongue."

"Oh man," Hodgins laughed to himself, "You and I, my friend, need to have a _long_ talk." Angela, on the off chance Jack was hitting on someone besides her, thwapped him upside the head. She knew he wasn't, but she enjoyed hitting him nonetheless.

"I'm in love," murmured Fisher in a corner, before promptly placing his head into his arms and weeping in agony for an unrequited force of will.

"You…" Booth began slowly, trying to wrap his mind around it, "think Hitler was a good leader?" His face crinkled. "And want to shave your _what?_"

"One of the best," interjected Brennan, tuning in and out of the conversation at will. "Although, as I rarely consume processed sugars, I don't have an opinion on Swedish Fish or other candy."

"What?" Booth was irked that everyone seemed to be turning against him.

"Booth, genocide is hardly a new notion," mused Brennan, still staring enraptured at the examining table but snapping her gloves off her hands by stripping them down her wrists. "Hitler made it extremely effective…almost factory efficient. Exportation when it all boils down to it. It's an old story. One that your religion is founded on, in fact. There is a sect no one likes or fears because of their power. In Christianity it was Jesus, in the Holocaust, the Jews controlled the banks…then, as it always goes, that group is annihilated. Like the Hutu and the Tutsis in Rwanda. The fact that he did it so quickly and silently in a matter of years shows great leadership abilities."

"I…Wha…NO…BONES…My religion is NOT the same principle as HITLER!" Booth bellowed.

Silence followed.

"Don't look at me," Hodgins protested. "I'm basically an atheist."

"Agnostic," smiled Angela. "Love and peace and mother nature."

"Funnily enough Hitler was a vegetarian," interjected Taylor smoothly.

"Yeah, I bet that art school wish they had taken him now," chuckled Hodgins darkly.

"Why would you want to rule the world anyways?" seethed Booth. Taylor looked surprised.

"I would never want to rule the world – it's too much like stepping in an ant pile and then having to form them into little columns."

"Herding cats," interjected Cam, finally stripping off her own gloves. "I know what you mean."

"I'd rather be a deity," continued Taylor with a charismatic smirk, as if imparting a great secret. "It's much less work in dealing with petty problems, and people would just worship me and do whatever I wanted without fear of being overthrown. At least not for a thousand years or so," she added when Brennan opened her mouth.

"Amen to that," Angela laughed. Cam moved forward but Taylor knew what she wanted before Cam would be forced to go through the appropriate motions of small talk...or at the very least, a normal topic of newly met acquaintance conversation.

"Taylor." _The girl certainly jumped the gun,_ Cam thought wryly.

"Cam."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Hodgins interrupted again.

"No offense – because you're totally ballin' and whatnot…with handing Fisher his ass on a platter – but who are you?"

"Oh…" Taylor, and the brash outgoing young woman who had come in and dominated the lab, making friends in minutes, was gone. She had faded back into the awkward introductory phase. "I'm just a friend."

While Taylor and Hodgins made small talk, Cam sidled up to Booth.

"Whoever she is," she told him in an undertone, "I like her. She's hilarious, competent and smart. But dear God, please don't tell me I have charge of yet another type A personality…"

"She's my sister." Booth said it loud enough for everyone on the platform to hear. "My half sister. We just found each other." Cam almost fainted.

"Seeley?" she breathed, her fist clenching involuntarily around a scalpel. She yelped; she had squeezed the blade end hard enough to draw blood.

"Fascinating," a new voice said, simultaneously as its partner exclaimed:

"Dr. Saroyan!" Sweets and Wendell rounded a corner, both bounding in step up the Forensic Platform, as perfectly in line as synchronized swimmers. Sweets peeled towards Taylor, and Wendell rushed to Cam, staunching the light blood flow with his own shirtsleeve in panic.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Lance Sweets. I'm the Bureau's profiler."

"A shrink." Taylor's voice was amused. Sweets was thrown.

"Well…yeah. In a manner of speaking."

"I don't put much credence in psychology." Sweets looked dumbfounded. Brennan, still perusing lab charts, oblivious to the emotional chaos raging around her, looked up.

"I agree," she said mildly.

"What _is_ it with people and psychology?" Sweets fumed.

"It's nothing personal," Taylor smiled. "I'm sure you're very good at your job. I'm sure you help a lot of people."

"But you don't think that _you_ need help," Sweets guessed shrewdly.

"Everybody needs help," she laughed. "Everybody needs therapy in some form or another. That doesn't make me special. And I choose to find it my own way."

"But what if your way doesn't work?" Taylor shrugged, looking vaguely annoyed for the first time since her set down with Fisher.

"It works for me. I'm sure you're very proficient." Sweets seemed to give up on a losing battle when not on his own turf.

"So you're Agent Booth's sister." It was a question disguised as a statement.

"So it would seem," she said smoothly. Sweets found he was staring at her perfect teeth flashing him a smile, making light of the whole thing. _A familial trait_, his mind catalogued. She didn't offer anything further, but Sweets made a mental note to get her in the same room as Dr. Wyatt. It was easy to profile her. Beautiful, powerful and intelligent, Taylor was used to being in control. She was obviously successful in domineering most of her relationships and establishing a pecking order from the very beginning. Yet she did it in a funny, enchanting sort of way – like a mix of Booth and Angela. The idea of Taylor being in the room with an ex-psychiatrist (though Sweets was positive he could read minds, Wyatt was so adept at picking up minutiae and reflections), and having her control wrested from her was an entertaining fantasy. In the meantime, Sweets realized within five minutes he was head over heels in a huge crush.

Yet even as he observed, he began noticing the sidelong glances she was receiving not only from dour Fisher across the room, but from Fisher's rotation - who was bandaging Cam's hand – Wendell Bray. Sweets reasoned with himself it was simply because she was in her twenties, like most of the interns. But deep down, Sweets knew it was simply because she was outrageously funny and intelligent, as he listened in genuine amusement to Hodgins' breathless recollection of Fisher's public pride licking by what seemed to be a very ordinary graduate student. Dr. Brennan interrupted his musings with a loud snap of the folder closing, and a meaningful glance towards Taylor. The glance was hardly lost to anyone on the platform save maybe Fisher, as Dr. Brennan's non-verbal cues were rudimentary and overblown at best.

"Miss Walsh…"

"Call me Taylor," the young woman corrected automatically. Her amber eyes intensely focused on Brennan's face, and to Brennan's utter consternation, she did as Booth always had. Her eyes flicked over Brennan's features before she even had time to speak, like reading a lab report.

"Taylor could I talk to you-" Brennan wasn't even sure where she was going with this, but Taylor saved her the social awkwardness with a cleverly executed lie.

"Yes I'd be happy to take our interview upstairs." Although she could tell Booth was bewildered, Taylor's genius cover gave the other Squints a plausible excuse and explanation for her presence. They obviously assumed Brennan was doing a favor for her partner.

As the two walked up the metal stairs, Brennan murmured under her breath: "I need some advice." Taylor's face lit with a devilish grin, so akin to Booth's own.

"I thought you'd never ask."


	29. The Dad's Club

**Chapter 29: The Dad's Club**

**Yes, I know people are irritated at me bringing in another character this late in the game and really don't want to hear about her (and i promise, next chapter she won't be there, as much as i love her) - but I confess to setting it up nicely for a sequel to the story in the future- maybe using the time jump on the show. So bear with me - oh and review! We're at the finish line my friends.**

"It's perfect." Brennan glowed at the unexpected praise. After a careful tour through her proposal, she had sat anxiously awaiting Taylor's approval. With a few minor changes, the plan was perfected. Now all she had to do is count down the days to Russ' wedding.

They came in synchronization back down the stairs, Brennan saying loudly. "I'm sorry but I just cannot offer you a position at this time. You're intellect would not be beneficial to our team." Scandalized, the squints (all save Fisher, who had slunk home at Wendell's appearance), gasped in unison. It was rather rude of Dr. Brennan, after all, to insult Agent Booth's sister _and_ turn her down.

"I understand." Cam noticed it first. Taylor didn't look a bit let down, in fact, she was glowing with pleasure, a smile lurking under all her expressions. They ascended the Forensic Platform together, and Cam guessed shrewdly that it was all a cover for…something. However, Cam was spared the time to mull by a rather spectacular crash; missing the last step, Taylor had collided into a cascade of instruments in an almost cleanly executed tumble, creating a loud cacophony of steel against steel as she shielded her eyes.

Silence reigned absolute for a breathtaking second, even the lab techs freezing in their tracks before Hodgins started clapping enthusiastically. Angela laughed while Cam moved forward to help extract her from the tools. Booth, who was on his phone with a look of consternation on his face, paused only a second before resuming his call after seeing she was all right.

"Mr. Bray," sighed Brennan, a bit irritated at the interruption, "please get those cleaned up and sterilized."

"Right away Dr. Brennan." As he knelt next to Taylor, reaching over one of her knees for a probe, she breathed in deeply and looked up, their faces inches apart. He fell on his bottom hastily throwing himself out of her personal space, and she grabbed Cam's hand, flustered.

"That's a nasty looking scratch," observed Cam. The others clustered around to gawp, and Booth even hung up his phone. Taylor idly rubbed her finger under her right eyebrow and pulled out a compact mirror.

"Oh." Her voice didn't sound all that surprised. "I guess I hit something while I fell."

"Tilt your head up," instructed Cam, and Taylor obediently lifted her chin.

"Looks like you already have a scar up under there," Cam observed clinically, with a meaningful look at Booth. His countenance darkened at the implications.

"Yeah – my dad dropped me on the treadmill when I was two."

"What?" blinked Angela. Taylor twisted her mouth, crinkling her eyes at the corners. She didn't blush, exactly, so much as look as if her face _wanted_ to blush.

"It's not as bad as it sounds. I had just learned to walk and it was one of those old fashioned belts where you have to push-"

"He dropped you on the treadmill? What was he even doing-" Booth's voice escalated in pitch. He looked seriously at her before yanking a sleeve up her shoulder. Her arm had two dark bruises on it. To match the blackness on her skin, Booth's eyes flipped from mahogany to ebony in fury.

"Who did this to you?" Taylor, bewildered but quick, realized his question.

"No, no…it's not like that Booth. I'm really clumsy. I'm sure I walked into a pole or wasn't looking when a kid threw a baseball…"

"Just stop – save it," fumed Booth to her. "I know all the excuses. I get it – but seriously, your dad-"

"No!"

"Agent Booth," Sweets' cautioned, pushing past Cam, "I think-"

"Hush," cautioned Cam in an undertone to him.

"No, guys, seriously I don't think-"

"Sweets!" Booth rounded on him, and the squints took a step back, a large berth around him. Hodgins looked compassionate. "Don't try to make this okay. It's not okay."

"I fall a lot," put in Taylor, timidly.

"Don't _say_ stuff like that," ground out Booth. "Just don't. I get it."

"No you don't!" Taylor flipped from submissive to aggressive, her frustration at his ignoring her protests (albeit for good intentions) spilling over.

"You don't get it," Sweets corroborated quietly, and handed Booth a piece of paper. Booth snatched it from his grasp. Sweets looked directly at Taylor while the blood drained out of Booth's flooded temples and fiery temper. "I think you dropped your purse when you fell." Taylor's sudden panicked eyes gave it away. Her gaze raked the floor, and Angela was quietly putting both tampons and her wallet back into her handbag.

"Thanks." Her voice matched her ashen face.

"This is your dad?" asked Booth, his voice gravelly with some unnamed emotion Taylor couldn't quite place her finger on. She nodded and sidled up next to him. Out of reflex, he lowered the photo into the middle of the group so everyone could see, causing Taylor to blush for real this time.

"That's senior prom. It was custom for the senior parents to come to the banquet and get a photo with their son or daughter…" Taylor stopped talking when she realized no one was listening, their gazes ensnared in…pity?...and trained on the photograph.

"Your dress is beautiful," said Brennan, finally breaking the silence. It was. In the picture, Taylor's hair was coiffed and poised, and her dress was a pink fuchsia taffeta princess-like ball gown, rouched around the waist and cascading out in giant, pinned waves. The bodice was embroidered with pearls in intricate patterns to the waist. The mother and father matched. Brennan recognized the golden, curled hair of Dr. Walsh, dressed in dressy black pants and a white top with a high waisted thick black belt, its belt buckle a round diamond oval. She was obviously matched to her husband, in his black and white tuxedo.

The man who was Taylor's father in everything but blood was grinning, almost laughing, his brown eyes a different color than hers entirely, but brown enough to bear some semblance. His hairline was receding and Taylor was sitting gracefully on his lap, hiding his legs with her enormous dress. His arms were limp next to his sides, not encircling his daughter's waist. As big as her dress and its luxurious folds were, they could not hide the wheels or the headrest of his powerchair. He was paralyzed.

"What's wrong with him?" Hodgins had blurted it out before thinking, and Booth's murderous gaze and Angela's scandalized eyes had shut him up before he could do more damage.

"ALS."

"What?" Booth's face scrunched up in irritation. Cam's crumpled in sympathy. Brennan didn't cringe so much as breathe deeply and look at Booth squarely.

"Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis."

"Huh?"

"Lou Gehrig's," supplied Sweets, knowing Booth would get the baseball reference. Booth's confusion turned into a mixture of horror and regret.

"Oh…" he said, his voice suddenly soft and gravelly, handed the picture back to Taylor as Angela handed her purse back. "Sorry."

"Yeah it's okay."

"Is he dead?" Brennan's bald-faced statement had even Hodgins blushing.

"Fortunately, yes," Taylor's face softened.

"Fortunately?" Sweets asked, catching the blunder. "Don't you mean unfortunately?" Taylor had held her composure and endured their pity with long standing grace – as if, Sweets had noticed- she was very used to it. But now, just for a moment, she lost her façade of calm and snapped a little.

"Yes fortunately," she stressed. She stopped, embarrassed but not flushed, rather pale, either from anger or pain, Booth couldn't tell. She took a calming breath and her earlier seeming indifference returned. "It was a long, hard disease. And it took everything from him. His body, his mind. His family." The bitterness was blatant even to Cam, who wasn't a "feelings" kind of girl.

"That is incorrect," supplied Brennan. "ALS does not attack the brain-"

"I'm not very smart," interrupted Taylor, "at least not in science," she amended when Brennan opened her mouth to correct her yet again. "But please believe me, this is one area in which I am an expert. And I am not boasting. The dementia and disease attacks the prefrontal cortex making them…"

"Angry," finished Brennan, barely breathing the word. "And cruel, I expect. As if he didn't realize what he said was rude." Her gaze suddenly filled with the pity she usually reserved for Booth, or on more rare occasions, for herself. "It must have been very hard."

"Yes." Taylor did that infuriating thing in which she refused to expound upon a subject, thus rendering it closed. She came face to face with Wendell again, who mutely handed her another photograph to match the one in Booth's hand.

"And this one?" he asked quietly. Angela gasped.

"Is that _you?"_ The photograph was obviously for a competition or for an art prize. Printed in black in white, portrayed was a light haired young woman. She was the focus, but her hair was chopped at jaw length, her top half of her body dressed in a business suit black jacket, and she was mid sob as if her heart was broken. It wasn't a beautiful portrait; her mascara dripped down one jaw like someone had hit her temple with a hammer and the blood had leaked black. Likewise, her eyes and nose were scrunched together in agony, a sob obviously ripping out of her gaping mouth. Yet beyond all the gut wrenching sobs, it was easy to tell the woman was still beautiful. Over one shoulder, blurred, looked to be a stone cross, and next to that, was a grey blur. Booth's stomach dropped when she realized she was in a graveyard.

"Yes," smiled Taylor, seeming to actually enjoy the fact her soul was on display in the most bare of way. "James won numerous awards for that piece. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in photography, and a job at National Geographic."

Angela spoke timidly, "That wasn't….that wasn't at your father's…" Cam seemed to grasp what she was asking and simultaneously muttered,

"Oh my God."

"Yes. It was at his funeral." Taylor's voice suddenly went distant, as if she were speaking of abstract theories and the fourth dimension. "James, he said that emotions couldn't be faked. I look different because I chopped off all my hair for...it made sense at the time... At first I was outraged-"

"Well, yeah," said Hodgins, his blue eyes huge and furious for her complete apathy. Only Wendell swallowed at her tone. Her story was striking too close to home. He knew what it was like to lose a father to a terminal disease.

"It received a phenomenal welcome," shrugged Taylor. "After a while, I became less self conscious."

"Who is James?" asked Angela, with a sultry smile, attempting to steer the conversation on happier ground. She should have been the captain of the Titanic for all the success she achieved.

"He was my fiancé."

"Was?" asked Cam cautiously.

"We broke up."

"Why?" Sweets was brash.

"He got married."

"What?" blinked Booth.

"Yes, to his second mistress."

"His _second_?" asked Wendell, shocked out of silence.

"Yes, apparently I was his first mistress. He was perfect. Smart, a photographer, a genius at people. It's probably what made him so personable. Irish to boot – great accent. He was very charming. I guess I wasn't the only one to think so."

"Well, that scum didn't deserve you anyways," grumbled Booth.

"Yeah," corroborated Cam hastily, "he chose wrong."

"Yes, I know," said Taylor dryly.

Everyone was spared the moment the glass doors whooshed open. They turned expectantly but it was Cam and Angela who gasped. Brennan was unimpressed as she made notes in her file, Hodgins and Sweets grinned in anticipation, Wendell fled, and Booth simply looked resigned.

Hand in hand, Jared and Padme walked up the stairs.

"So what's this I hear about a new little sister?" Jared asked jokingly. Taylor raised a hand.

"Guilty." Jared looked thrown, obviously disconcerted she was right there.

"Jared – this is Taylor. Taylor – this is my younger brother Jared."

"Hi," Taylor said, shaking hands politely.

"Padme." She introduced herself. Taylor smiled and read the situation quickly.

"Are you two married?" she asked, pointing at each person and wiggling her pointer fingers between them.

"Engaged," smiled Padme. Taylor caught a strained glance on Booth's face and guessed correctly it was a sore subject.

"And how long have you known each other?" She was remarkably adept. By the visible wince from the peanut gallery, she knew she had hit the nail on the head.

"Four or five months?" grinned Padme, shrugging as if that was her best guess. Her smile was a little strained. She decided to get back some of her own.

"Well, I certainly see that the Booth genes run strong in the family. Good to know that handsome here," she backslapped Jared's stomach with the rear of her hand. "That his face doesn't look too bad on a girl." Angela swallowed a grin, ever a fickle friend.

Taylor, instead of being offended, swallowed a small smile of her own. "It is good to know," she agreed. "Especially if you're expecting." Everyone laughed at the joke, not noticing Padme speaking under their chuckles.

"I definitely want to get on this wedding dress before I start to show." Jared stopped first, a funny look crossing his face both of awe and terror.

"Honey?" Padme giggled as everyone else's laughter stopped. Jared's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?" Padme sobered.

"Yes," she twinkled up at him incandescently. "I saw the doctor today. They can't tell the gender yet, but I don't really want to know? Do you?"

"Yes, I mean… no," Jared was agreeing stupidly, obviously stuck on the first part of Padme's confession.

"You…are pregnant?" he whispered, tears in his eyes. And then the couple was hit with a blast of sound; cheering and congratulation.


	30. Limbo II

**Chapter 30: Limbo II**

**Here it is - the big finish. I didn't want to taint your reading experience with an author's note at the end, so here it goes: This story has been a pleasure to write, and your reviews have awed, cheered and moved me. You have all been amazing and I hope you don't get lost in cyber space and latch on to some of my other stories in the future. I foresee a sequel, but not before I start and finish other stories (and I kind of want to see where the sixth season sets the scene.) To all of you - as Hodgins says in "Aliens in a Spaceship" - It's been a privilege.**

"You shouldn't skulk," Brennan half-heartedly reprimanded Booth, catching him ducking out of her office for the fifth time. She had been barricaded out of it, and to her frustration, Cam had allowed it.

"And you shouldn't _sulk_," he cheerfully and cheekily retorted. Brennan's scowl grew.

"It's my party and I'll sulk if I want to," she stuck her tongue out like a child in a tantrum, while Booth slowly mock applauded her knowing a pop cultural reference in a song.

"Sweetie," sang Angela, swinging around her best friend as if she were the horseshoe and Brennan the stake. Angela finished her orbit with a tight, rib-crushing hug. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," puffed Brennan, who didn't have enough air to even squeak. "Booth, could I please go in there to retrieve-"

"Nope!" He impudently steamrolled her query. "Like I said. No one goes in or out except me. I'm working on your present!"

"Well how long can it take Booth?" she fumed, "It's already eleven o'clock and you've been in there since before I arrived!"

"Yep. I got here at 8:30. But it's been done for ages." He waited for her blustery exclamation to get stuck in her throat somewhere as he saucily stroked a finger down her windpipe to Brennan's consternation, and Angela's delight.

"Well! I won't look or anything," Brennan said, but try as she might, the edge of a whine snuck in. Booth gave her his best father's look before wrinkling his nose impishly and smirking at her.

"No. What do you need?"

"The case file DXR452, bone splinters charred in appearance and masticated by closer proxy examination." Brennan enjoyed tantalizing Booth by bespeaking the most obtuse and arcane words for a simple explanation. She narrowed her eyes as he shrugged and disappeared. She waited; foot tapping as Angela narrated her life story and in an undertone confessed her and Hodgins' complicated relationship was back on again. Brennan was sure Booth would arrive with an armful of all her files, just to taunt, frustrate and completely admit defeat. To her surprise, he came back with the exact file she needed; she recognized the tabbing.

"How did you know?" she asked, shocked.

"Easy Bones. Easy. You use your intellect speak when you want to be as irksome as possible. _XR_ means an X-Ray was performed and _D_ if it's a Jane or John Doe. That narrowed it down to two cases. 452 is the last three digits in the zip code in which it was found, _and_…" he trailed off to brazenly enjoy her surprise, "charred and masticated really just mean burned and chewed on. Which means the animal case at the park we just picked up. See? I'm not as dumb as I look." Brennan's outrage had flamed into a smile of both pride and exasperation.

"Awww," cooed Angela. "He learned your record system for you. How adorable."

"I guess," grouched Brennan. "I'll keep him." Booth beamed. "_Now_ can I see my present?"

"Not yet," came the irritating answer.

"There's a party downstairs for you," beamed Angela. "I'm supposed to bring you. Oh, and it's a complete surprise."

"No it's not," said Brennan blankly.

"Yes," said Angela, a tad bit impatiently, "because I told you. I know you hate surprises." Booth opened his mouth to correct Angela that Brennan wasn't blind and had noticed the furtive movement, but with one of their thousands of gestures between them, Brennan wearily waved him off. It didn't hurt Angela not to spoil her fun.

"That's very gracious," Brennan informed her. "And you're right. I _do_ hate surprises."

"Come see what we all got you," implored her best friend, tugging on Brennan's arm. "Work can wait. At least for an hour."

"In an hour it will be lunch."

"Exactly!" Angela beamed. "That's why you can wait!" Not wanting to point flaws in her logic, Brennan sighed and casting one last glance at the door Booth was menacingly guarding, allowed herself to be dragged away, hearing Booth's light footsteps taking up the rear as they all walked to Limbo.

"So you want in on the pool Booth?" Angela called over her shoulder.

"For what?" he sounded amused.

"No gambling," Brennan said severely.

"Aw, come on Bones," Booth immediately whined. "When I took that bet with Sweets about the kid being the counselor….you were the bank…" he trailed off desperately before tugging a lock of her hair from behind on her neck that had escaped her bun. She jumped, and cast him a stern glance, lips tight, over a shoulder. He grinned cheekily, not the least remorseful. His face crinkled. "Wait? What's the pot for?"

"Who it's for is more like it," laughed Angela. "It's on the baby's gender."

"Jared's?" gasped Booth.

"More like Padme's," corrected Angela.

"Wait, but you don't even _know _him that well."

"But Cam does – and she and Hodgins made a bet. Then Wendell wanted in. And then me, and I'm pretty sure all the interns are in except of course," her voice dropped, laden with amusement, "Clark."

"Well obviously," Brennan said scathingly, "Dr. Edison is very driven in his work and can't be distracted by-"

"Well what are the odds?" Booth blithely steamrolled Brennan's reprimand; she was getting testy because she was getting nervous. He could tell because the pretty little pulse under one ear was fluttering as they came closer and closer in proximity to the door down to bone storage.

"Well actually most people are betting it'll be a girl."

"What?" Booth's forehead creased as it did when he was flummoxed. "I thought it was a pretty even split. 50-50 odds and whatnot."

"They figure since you and Jared were both boys, that karma's got a girl coming for you."

"Oh." Booth couldn't quite think of what to say.

"That's preposterous!" screeched Brennan, her voice a register higher than normal because of nerves as they touched the door handle. "There's absolutely no method of prediction—"

"SURPRISE!" The call halted her in her tracks on the stairs, face milk white (whiter than usual), and blue eyes huge with surprise. Sweets was standing over an enormously tiered cake frosted just short of wedding cake magnificence, looking far too happy holding a giant knife for serving. Hodgins was exuberantly and openly dumping a bottle of rum into the punch bowl while he smiled angelically; Cam finished straightening the table cloth on what suspiciously resembled several examining tables crammed together into a long buffet style, lowered to seating level. Guests included all her interns, some FBI agents she had seen around with Booth (including the ever present but always forgettable Charlie), and even Caroline Julian, who was looking droll in a paper hat no doubt wrested on her by Angela.

Within seconds, Angela had crowned Brennan with a sparkly tiara (to Brennan's horror and Booth's endless amusement) while Daisy led a high pitched happy birthday serenade to the good doctor looking shocked on the stairs. Booth privately thought to himself that it was a good thing Brennan was so observant or that Angela had told her, because if Brennan's face had been any whiter, she could have been a corpse.

When everyone had quieted, a staticky voice said, "Happy Birthday Dr. Brennan!" Brennan's blanched face turned dangerously a shade paler as her eyes flooded with tears of their own accord.

"Zack?" she whispered.

"Over here Dr. Brennan." Cam obligingly stepped aside, with a conspiratorial wink at Booth, to reveal an open laptop with a video feed to Zack's insane asylum. He waved cheerfully; his hands gloved, as Brennan moved forward as if he were a ghost, tears unheeding on her cheeks. Clark, who was nearest to the laptop, actually stepped forwards instead of back, to gently squeeze Brennan's arm as she turned in a wide circle.

"This is…" she managed to choke out. "This is…the _best,_" she enunciated the word fervently, "surprise birthday party ever." The entire room erupted into laughter; no one believed that for one second she didn't know what had been going on. "I mean it," Brennan nodded. Her hands gesticulating. One caught someone in the chest and she turned to apologize, only to come inches away from Booth, her hand still glued to his lapel.

"Birthday kiss!" hollered Hodgins, backed up by instant chants from all the male interns and even Caroline taking a cynical sort of interest.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Laughing, Brennan was the one to grab Booth before jumping into his arms, kissing him passionately, trying to convey through every slow, heated sweep of her tongue, what she herself could not say. Booth dipped her back, like an old fashioned movie, and kissed her until people were clearing their throats instead of egging them on. By the time they were finished everyone was silent with shock, their jaws on the floor.

"You asked for it," muttered Booth, as Brennan, stupefied and overjoyed, stumbled a few steps towards the punch bowl. In the absolute ringing silence, one voice spoke.

"Did I miss something?" asked Zack, in complete puzzlement. It broke the mood into another helpless round of laughter while Hodgins scurried over to be the first to chat with Zack at the table. Funnily enough, Vincent Nigel-Murray pulled up a chair with a keen interest to talk to the "genius nutter in the loony."

"Want to see our gift?" chirruped Fisher, dredging up as best he could a spot of sunshine on his soul. "All the interns pitched in. Hey – it's amazing," he added defensively, as Booth guided Brennan by the arm after a trail of bouncing interns, Mr. Nigel-Murray coming to stand with the rest encircling a big ugly _something_ under a blanket. With a magnificent sweep, Daisy pulled the cover off the big hulking thing. It was a 50s style jukebox. "Okay," Wendell admitted, with a sheepish grin and two upheld hands, "I totally got it off ebay…but Booth's list said you like old school jazz and-"

"Booth's _list_?" Brennan raised an eyebrow and Booth immediately shot them all a death glare.

"Yeah, well, I thought since they were all going to buy you something anyway..." grumbled Booth. "They all kept coming up for corny advice so I just…followed Cam's example and sent out a mass email."

"To _everyone?"_ gasped Brennan.

"Just the lab," retorted Booth defensively.

"Look how well it works," chimed in Mr. Nigel-Murray, oblivious to their argument. He chose a record and out floated a big band classic, the saxophone dominating the sound. Before Brennan could protest or ask them to take it back, Booth had swept her up in his arms and set around the middle of limbo whirling her in his arms past hallways of skeletons.

Hodgins abdicated his seat to Cam as he caught up Angela to dance and Sweets grabbed Daisy. Clark was enough of a gentleman (and the only one brave enough) to take Caroline by the hand while Zack protested as Wendell good naturedly spun Cam from her seat. The FBI team and the rest of the Squints started clapping and stamping their feet as Zack laughed at Brennan's both thrilled and petrified face as she whirled past.

"Booth!" but her plea was weak. She was enjoying herself and together she and Booth danced until the song ended.

"Punch!" called Hodgins, setting himself up as bartender. Sweets began dicing the cake while Cam fluttered nervously, looking as if she wanted nothing more than to wrest the sharp object out of Sweets' hands.

"I'd really prefer…" but struck with sudden genius she whispered in Sweets' ear and he reluctantly abdicated his position as cake server to Cam, who fed overly generous helpings to anyone in line. And an extra big one to the FBI guy who winked at her.

"What did Dr. Saroyan say to you?" asked Daisy, sitting down at the buffet table next to her Lancelot. Sweets was pouting and shoveling his cake around but brightened at her query.

"She said if I gave the knife to her, I'll get to hold a brain. Not just touch it. _Hold it._" Daisy looked at him like he was insane, but he happily enough acquiesced to eating.

"Why is it pink?" asked Brennan, her nose wrinkled as she stared in bewilderment at her pink cake and white icing. Booth winked roguishly both at her and Cam while being served before leading her to her place of honor. He licked a thumb free of icing as he set down his plate before leaning over and straightening her tiara that she had forgotten she was wearing.

"It's strawberry," smiled Booth, smug as a cat in cream. Brennan laughed.

"My favorite," she conceded.

"Presents!" crowed Angela. "Open mine now." She handed Brennan a large box. Brennan protested but Angela frowned. "It's hand made. I didn't buy it at any store." Booth noticed Angela said nothing on how much she spent. He ducked to hide a smile as Brennan almost too eagerly ripped off the wrapping paper. He wondered how many birthdays had slipped by uneventfully. He wondered if she had ever really been longing for one like this year. He had thought she would have thrown a big production; he was now perplexed he hadn't figured on doing this earlier.

"It's-" Brennan seemed to be at a loss for what _it_ was. Opening the cardboard box – which clearly read as Malibu Oranges- was a computer or technological device of some kind.

"It's a mini Angelator!" beamed Angela. "But you can put this one to more practical uses rather than blah old murder. This one can try on shoes and record video and memories three dimensionally. Also – if you ever want outfit advice-" Angela wiggled her eyebrows as Brennan blushed.

"Ange…thank you. It's really thoughtful." But Booth could tell she was secretly pleased. Evidently so could Angela, because instead of throwing a fit, she sat back, with a self-congratulatory smile on her face.

"Mine next," beamed Sweets. His was simply an envelope. Brennan opened it and took out an official document. Her eyes briefly assessed it before they became too watery to read. Wordlessly, she handed it to Booth, who was boiling over with concern. His own eyes flicked both over the page and to Brennan's face. Yet by the time he got to Sweets' signature on the bottom, he too was feeling emotional.

"This is…" he said in a low, gruff voice.

"What is it?" asked Cam impatiently. Sweets beamed.

"It's my authorization that they can stay as partners even now that they are together as a couple. I've decided it'd be foolish to break up such a valuable hard-working team."

"It's the best present you could have given me," Brennan said sincerely, an escaped tear glistening on her cheek. Booth idly brushed it away without even looking at her, gently folding the paper back into the envelope. Sweets read the sincerity.

"I know," he said just as genuinely, "which is great," he added. "Because I have nothing else. I couldn't _think_ of anything!" Everyone laughed and the tension went out in a rush.

"Mine next," said the tinny voice. Zack's too, was an envelope. "But you should wait and open it later."

"Okay…" said Brennan uncertainly. But Sweets' eyes got huge. He knew what the paper said. It too, would radically change Brennan's world. He personally thought it showed remarkable acuity for Zack to realize the importance and recognize the social situation. Over one shoulder, Sweets gave him an approving nod. Zack looked grim. It would also radically change his own world.

"Cam, you should go," urged Hodgins, his eyes sparkling. He evidently wanted his to be last. Angela threw him a look. She knew better; Hodgins wouldn't get her an _actual_ pony.

"Okay…" Cam knew Brennan the least, though their trip in California had strengthened their relationship. "In addition to _one_ more free pass to flout my authority per week…" Brennan gasped in excitement at the privilege, which made Cam internally flinch. "Here." She handed down the line of people a small bag. Brennan opened the bag to find a necklace box. Murmuring how beautiful the jewelry store that manufactured the box was, Brennan opened it carefully. Inside, lying along the velvet, was a gorgeous silver necklace. Brennan scrunched her brow puzzling it out before she gasped in comprehension. The wide, arching silver met in the middle as it clasped in front through a loop with a curious two pronged tie. It took her a moment to realize the tie was the tail of a dolphin, and the silver body gracefully arching around the neck, the head meeting the tail and an aquamarine topaz stone set as the glittering eye.

"Oh it's beautiful," she murmured reverently, lifting it out and immediately trying it on. "Where did you find it?" Under the table, Booth gave Cam two thumbs up. She had evidently read his list as the necklace fell under both tastefully clunky jewelry and Brennan's love for dolphins.

"It wasn't that hard really," Cam demurred as exclamations were made around the table.

"Here." The voice was unceremonious as all eyes swiveled in ripe astonishment to Caroline Julian, thrusting a small package forward. "What?" she scowled, "you think my mother raised me without taste?" All the interns began babbling hastily that they in no way implied her mother had anything to do with anything. Smiling privately, Brennan laughed outright when she pulled out the coffee mug. Two stick figures – obviously designed by the same website that did those irritating families on car window decals- decorated the mug. One was a woman holding a giant bone and a shovel, and the other was a man holding a smoking gun to his lips. On the reverse, it simply said,

"Don't call me Bones." Everyone laughed for the fourth or fifth time, patting Caroline on the arm until she looked positively green with the good will she was receiving.

"That's great," grinned Booth.

"I gotta go Cheri," Caroline informed them. "My lunch break is almost up." Immediately the other agents stood and plead the same excuse. The squints danced two or three more rounds – one even an elaborate and horrible waltz – while Booth and Brennan both talked to Zack, before the party wound down.

"One last present," announced Hodgins. He nodded conspiratorially at Wendell, who rushed off to do his bidding. Zack looked around his frame confused at the clopping sound that came down one of the far halls to the left.

"No way," laughed Brennan as both Angela and Cam dropped their punch at the outrageous gift. Ambling into view was an enormous horse, obviously of high caliber European breeding, led by Wendell and covered with a beautiful blue blanket that said _ Brennan.

"You can get it embroidered after you name him," grinned Hodgins at her and Booth's stunned faces.

"Him?" said Booth carefully.

"He's a Hanoverian. Even tempered."

"He's beautiful," whispered Brennan, enchanted at the large black solid, living, breathing horse standing in the middle of her party.

"I know what you should name him," laughed Booth. Brennan turned, cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah?"

"Hey I figured out your filing system," Booth reminded her. "Like this is hard." He waved one hand grandly at the black horse. "Say hello to….Jasper." Brennan began laughing, even while protesting it wasn't funny. Yet she knew in her heart she could never once take another name seriously.

"Jasper," she cooed, stroking the velvety nose. She surreptitiously fed it some cake. The gelding noisily smacked its lips at the sugary treat.

After a round of goodbyes to Zack and Jasper, and Hodgins leading the horse out of the back door (as horses cannot climb stairs) to the trailer waiting in the parking lot, the party was over.

"That was amazing," gushed Angela as they made their way upstairs, the punch making everyone joyous, tipsy and gloriously alive. Brennan had accordingly granted everyone a half day – using her newfound steamroller to ignore Cam's protests - before Cam, groaning, had laughed and began parceling cake as a sort of party favor.

"Here," called Brennan to no one in particular, absently stroking her new dolphin necklace. "Who wants my crown?" A high pitched elated screech resounded from the knot of people.

"It would be my honor," Daisy breathed, panting from her sprint before kneeling at Brennan's feet. Booth couldn't help it and burst out laughing. Sweets hurried over, muttering a placating excuse about too much punch. Brennan shrugged, carefully disentangled her hair (lest Daisy worship that as a shrine as well), and thrust the crown as unceremoniously as she could to Daisy's tremulous grip.

"Oooh!" crowed Hodgins, coming in late, glimpsing the crown and snatching it from Daisy's clasping fingers to cram on his curly hair. "Look at me! I'm such a pretty king of the lab!" He did a pirouette while Daisy collapsed into tears whilst Angela and Cam laughed, punch drunk, as Sweets consoled her. Brennan gave Daisy her pen instead. Daisy seemed to find this absolutely suitable replacement and skipped off, veering constantly to the left, as Sweets chased after her.

"Now for my present," Booth said in a husky timber that had Brennan's knees turning to jelly and her abdomen dropping to the floor in a liquid pool of desire.

"We could at least wait until we're in private," she teased and satisfactorily saw Booth's eyes darken with lust.

"That too," he grinned. "I almost forgot."

"You _what_?" Brennan tried to pretend to be angry, but found it impossible with her head spinning pleasantly both from whirling, punch and a third helping of her own strawberry cake.

"You can come to your office now," smiled Booth, his voice like liquid chocolate. In a daze, Brennan followed after him, intoxicated.

"I'll wait here," he informed her, ignoring her protesting look. "This one – I promise Bones, you'll want to see this for yourself." Brennan's heart pounded, thundering in her ears next to the ring swinging between her breasts. Russ' wedding suddenly seemed an age away.

"Where's my St. Christopher's medal?" she asked petulantly instead.

"All in due time," laughed Booth. "Go on. It won't bite. It's not even alive like Hodgins' present."

"Jasper," glowed Brennan, and she saw Booth's eyes darken even further.

"This one's for you, from me," Booth said, instead of grabbing her and plundering her mouth with his tongue as he really wanted. Brennan hesitated, hand on the door frame, unsure of her nerves. She swallowed and slipped inside.

It was dark.

But as her eyes adjusted, immediately she wanted to laugh. She should have known Booth had been building all this tension for nothing. Sitting squarely in the middle of the room in a tangle of electrical cords was a big cardboard box wrapped like a giant present. It glowed from the inside. Brennan could only guess he would make her unwrap box after box until she found the St. Christopher's medallion at he very bottom, with a gag gift of a lit light bulb or something else "Boothy" and ridiculous. She sighed and moved forward to read the tag.

It simply read: _Enter from back._ Puzzled, she circled around the wrapped refrigerator box. There was a doorway cut out of the back. Curious, Brennan got down on her hands and knees and crawled inside. She gasped.

Littering the floor were several pillows. Most of which, she was amused to note, came from her own couch not three feet away. But Booth had done a marvelous job rigging and stapling the entire inside of the box until it glowed with strings of white Christmas lights. Foil stars, like at her prom, glued with hand drawn pictures she suspected Parker helped with, hung from the ceiling on clear fishing line. They appeared to be floating in the twinkling lights and came perilously close to whapping her in the face. They glinted in the light as she took in the nighttime wonderland. She crawled to the far edge of the box and sat down, reclining. She glanced upwards, thoroughly impressed and to no end amused when she saw constellation after constellation printed from the internet, carefully cut and stapled into a collage of the night sky. Predictably, Booth had put them all in the wrong positions – but it was the thought that counted.

As her eyes adjusted to the glowing little haven Booth had so painstakingly made for her, Brennan had to wonder what on earth it was all about. She stopped a moment to savor her unwitting pun. As her eyes scanned for her favorite constellation – the dolphin – her gaze snagged on another fishing wire nestled in the middle of the star field glinting in the light. She had missed it through the gently twirling foil stars and the dazzling lights. When she followed the string down to what lay on the end, her breath caught.

"Do you like it?" Booth's voice startled her so much she physically jumped, rattling the cardboard. His face peeped through the doorway as he maneuvered his bigger bulk into the sanctuary with her.

With trembling fingers, Brennan reached upwards and gave the string the lightest of touches, causing the glittering, scintillating diamond ring on the end to twist and dance in the strings of lights. His face was lit with its own light in the background of the ring.

"It's…" she couldn't finish as he deftly yanked the string down and slipped the ring from its loose knot so it could glimmer in his palm.

"My St. Christopher's medal," he finished for her. The medallion had been bent to be the setting around the diamond, much like petals around a flower. The golden band had been easy enough to add, creating a one of a kind engagement ring from a piece of himself. His face split in two with a craggy, tremulous grin. "I told you you'd get it back." Her breath hitched, as did his voice. "Bones…please say something."

Instead, she carefully reached around her neck for the chain she always wore and pulled it over her head, gently around her ears. Without unhooking the masculine ring, now also glittering fiercely in the low light from the ruby, she nipped the St. Christopher's ring from his hand and dropped his father's ring into his cupped palm as he stared numbly.

"Where did you get this?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Taylor gave it to me." His eyes flew to her face.

"Do you know what it means-"

"Yes." Her voice was just as hushed. She laughed an almost sob. "I was going to give it to you at the reception of Russ' wedding. We were going to go for a walk…in _those_ shoes." Booth coughed a laugh, the tears stark in his eyes, and in his soul. They both looked at their rings – specially made and specially gave. Booth finally took a deep breath. He took the St. Christopher's ring from her numb fingers and gently, like a whisper, slid it over the fourth finger of her left hand.

"Will you marry me?" he asked breathlessly. She smiled beatifically.

"Only if you marry me first," she retorted back; their bickering zinged between them, a familiar friend in an unfamiliar place. Rings glimmering they stared, wide eyed at each other. Terrified and glorified.

She didn't see him, and he didn't remember moving, but suddenly he had swept her up in his arms, gripping her tightly until he was hugging her so tightly the box was shaking and Booth was struck with the wonderful, wild idea to shake it in a completely different way. Before his mouth descended on hers and he got totally carried away, Booth rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing deeply into her hair before whispering the first words of their married life:

"Happy birthday Brennan."


End file.
